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THE   BROAD  HIGHWAY 


THE 

BROAD 

HIGHWAY 


BY 


Jeffery  Farnol 


BOSTON 

LITTLE.  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1911 


Copyright,  1911, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 

Published,  February,  1911 
Reprinted,  February,  1911  (four  times) 


rm  nwivEHsrrv  press,  Cambridge,  ii.s.a. 


stack  Anoex 


TO 
SHIRLEY   BYRON   JEVONS 

THE    FRIEND    OF    MY    BOYISH     AMBITIONS 
THIS    WORK    IS    DEDICATED 

AS  A  MARK  OF  MY  GRATITUDE,   AFFECTION 

AND    ESTEEM 

J.    F. 


2129G03 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Antb  Scriptum 1 

BOOK  I 

Chapter 

I     Chiefly  Concerning  My  Uncle's  Last  Will  and  Testa- 
ment        5 

II     I  Set  Out 17 

III  Concerns  Itself  Mainly  with  a  Hat 21 

IV  I  Meet  with  a  Great  Misfortune 26 

V     The  Bagman 29 

VI     What  Befell  Meat  «  The  White  Hart" 33 

VII     Of  the  Further  Puzzling  Behavior  of  Tom  Cragg,  the 

Pugilist 41 

VIII     Which  Concerns  Itself  with  a  Farmer's  Whiskers  and 

a  Waistcoat 45 

IX     In  Which  I  Stumble  upon  an  Affair  of  Honor  ...  52 

X     Which  Relates  the  End  of  an  Honorable  Affair  60 

XI     Which    Relates   a   Brief  Passage-at-Arms   at  ''The 

Chequers"  Inn 63 

XII     The  One-Legged  Soldier 74 

XIII     In  Which  I  Find  an  Answer  to  My  Riddle        ...  78 


viii  Contents 

CHAFfEU  Page 
XIV     Further  Concerning  the  Gentleman  in  the  Bat- 
tered Hat 81 

XV     In  Which  I  Meet  with  a  Pedler  by  the  Name 

of  "  Gabbing  "  Dick 91 

XVI     How  I  Heard  the  Steps  of  One  Who  Dogged 

Me  in  the  Shadows 95 

XVII     How  I  Talked  with  a  Madman  in  a  Wood  by 

Moonlight 101 

XVIII     The  Hedge-Tavern 106 

XIX     In  Which  I  Become  a  Squire  of  Dames  .  Ill 

XX     Concerning  Deemons  in  General  and  One  in  Par- 
ticular  117 

XXI     "  Journeys  End  in  Lovers'  Meetings "      .     .     .      121 

XXII     In  Which  I  Meet  with  a  Literary  Tinker       .     .      127 

XXIII  Concerning  Happiness,  a  Ploughman,  and  Silver 

Buttons 135 

XXIV  Which  Introduces  the  Reader  to  the  Ancient    .      138 

XXV     Of  Black   George,  the  Smith,    and    How  We 

Threw  the  Hammer 145 

XXVI     Wherein  I  Learn  More  Concerning  the  Ghost  of 

the  Ruined  Hut l64 

XXVII     Which  Tells  How  and  in  What  Manner  I  Saw 

the  Ghost l67 

XXVIII     The  Highland  Piper 172 

XXIX     How  Black  George  and  I  Shook  Hands   .  178 

XXX     In  Which  I  Forswear  Myself  and  Am  Accused 

of  Possessing  the  "  Evil  Eye  " 184 

XXXI     In  Which  Donald  Bids  Me  Farewell     ....     190 

XXXII     In  Which  this  First  Book  Begins  to  Draw  to  a 

Close 194 


Contents  ix 

Chapteh                                                           .  Page 

XXXIII  In  Which  We  Draw  yet  Nearer  to  the  End  of 

this  First  Book 203 

XXXIV  Which    Describes    Sundry    Happenings   at   the 

Fair,  and  Ends  this  First  Book      ....  207 

A  Word  to  the  Reader 219 


BOOK   II— THE   WOMAN 

I     Of  Storm,  and  Tempest,  and  of  the  Coming  of 

Charmian 263 

II     The  Postilion 232 

III  Which  Bears  Ample  Testimony  to  the  Strength  of 

the  Gentleman's  Fists 236 

IV  Which,   among   other   Matters,    has  to   do   with 

Bruises  and  Bandages 240 

V     In  Which  I  Hear  111  News  of  George     ....  249 

VI     In  Which  I  Learn  of  an  Impending  Danger  258 

VII     Which  Narrates  a  Somewhat  Remarkable  Conver- 
sation        263 

VIII     In  Which  I  See  a  Vision  in  the  Glory  of  the  Moon, 

and  Eat  of  a  Poached  Rabbit 267 

IX     Which  Relates  Somewhat  of  Charmian  Brown        .  273 

X     I  Am  Suspected  of  the  Black  Art 281 

XI     A  Shadow  in  the  Hedge 288 

XII     Who  Comes } 292 

XIII     A  Pedler  in  Arcadia 297 

XIV     Concerning  Black  George's  Letter 304 


X  Contents 

Chaptek  Page 
XV     Which,  Being  in  Parenthesis,  May  be  Skipped 

if  the  Reader  so  Desire 309 

XVI     Concerning,  Among  Other  Matters,  the  Price 
of  Beef,   and  the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  of 

Camboume 311 

XVII     The  Omen 324 

XVIII     In  Which  I  Hear  News  of  Sir  Maurice  Vibart.  332 

XIX     How  I  Met  Black  George  Again,  and  Wherein 
the  Patient  Reader  Shall  Find  a  "Little 

Blood" 341 

XX     How  I  Came  up  out  of  the  Dark        ....  349 

XXI     Of  the  Opening  of  the  Door,  and  how  Char- 

mian  Blew  Out  the  Light 356 

XXII     In  Which  the  Ancient  Discourses  on  Love      .  362 

XXIII  How  Gabbing  Dick,  the  Pedler,  Set  a  Hammer 

Going  in  my  Head 368 

XXIV  The  Virgil  Book 372 

XXV     In  Which  the  Reader  Shall  Find  Little  to  do 

with  the  Story,  and  May,  therefore.  Skip  .  381 

XXVI     Of  Storm,  and  Tempest,  and  how  I  Met  One 

Praying  in  the  Dawn 385 

XXVII     The  Epileptic 390 

XXVIII     In  Which  I  Come  to  a  Determination     ...  394 

XXIX     In  Which  Charmian  Answers  My  Question  399 

XXX     Concerning  the  Fate  of  Black  George    .  408 

XXXI     In  Which  the  Ancient  is  Surprised    ....  41 6 

XXXII     How  We  Set  Out  for  Bumham  Hall      ...  420 

XXXIII     In  Which  I  Fall  from  Folly  into  Madness    .      .  426 


Contents  xi 

Chapter  Page 
XXXIV     In  Which  I  Found  Peace  and  Joy  and  an  Abid- 
ing Sorrow 432 

XXXV     How   Black   George  Found   Prudence  in    the 

Dawn 435 

XXXVI     Which  Sympathizes  with  a  Brass  Jack,  a  Brace 

of  C^utlasses,  and  Divers  Pots  and  Pans      .  440 

XXXVII     The  Preacher 444 

XXXVIII     In  Which  I  Meet  My  Cousin, Sir  Maurice  Vibart  449 

XXXIX     How  I  Went  Down  into  the  Shadows    .     .     .  458 

XL    How,  in  Place  of  Death,  I  Found  the  Fulness 

of  Life        464 

XLI     Light  and  Shadow 469 

XLII     How  Sir  Maurice  Kept  His  Word     ....  478 

XLIII     How  I  Set  Out  to  Face  my  Destiny        .      .      .  483 

XLIV     The  Bow  Street  Runners 489 

XLV     Which  Concerns  Itself,  among  other  Matters, 

vnth  the  Boots  of  the  Saturnine  Jeremy     .  492 

XLVI     How  I  Came  to  London 499 

XLV  1 1     In  Which  this  History  is  Ended 510 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 


ANTE    SCRIPTUM 

As  I  sat  of  an  early  summer  morning  in  the  shade  of  a  tree, 
eating  fried  bacon  with  a  tinker,  the  thought  came  to  me 
that  I  might  some  day  write  a  book  of  my  own :  a  book  that 
should  treat  of  the  roads  and  by-roads,  of  trees,  and  wind 
in  lonely  places,  of  rapid  brooks  and  lazy  streams,  of  the 
glory  of  dawn,  the  glow  of  evening,  and  the  purple  solitude 
of  night ;  a  book  of  wayside  inns  and  sequestered  taverns ; 
a  book  of  country  things  and  ways  and  people.  And  the 
thought  pleased  me  much. 

"  But,"  objected  the  Tinker,  for  I  had  spoken  my 
thought  aloud,  "  trees  and  suchlike  don't  sound  very  inter- 
estin'  —  leastways  —  not  in  a  book,  for  after  all  a  tree  's 
only  a  tree  and  an  inn,  an  inn ;  no,  you  must  tell  of  other 
things  as  well." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  a  little  damped,  "  to  be  sure  there  is  a 
highwayman " 

"  Come,  that 's  better !  "  said  the  Tinker  encouragingly. 

"  Then,"  I  went  on,  ticking  off  each  item  on  my  fingers, 
"  come  Tom  Cragg,  the  pugilist " 

"  Better  and  better !  "  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  —  a  one-legged  soldier  of  the  Peninsula,  an  adventure 
at  a  lonely  tavern,  a  flight  through  woods  at  midnight 
pursued  by  desperate  villains,  and  —  a  most  extraordinary 
tinker.  So  far  so  good,  I  think,  and  it  all  sounds  adven- 
turous enough." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Tinker.  "  Would  you  put  me  in 
your  book  then  .'*  " 

"  Assuredly." 


2  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Why  then,"  said  the  Tinker,  "  it 's  true  I  mends  kettles, 
sharpens  scissors  and  such,  but  I  likewise  peddles  books 
an'  nov-els,  an'  what 's  more  I  reads  'em  —  so,  if  you  must 
put  me  in  your  book,  you  might  call  me  a  literary  cove." 

"  A  literary  cove?  "  said  I. 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Tinker,  "  it  sounds  better  —  a  sight 
better  —  besides,  I  never  read  a  nov-el  with  a  tinker  in  it 
as  I  remember ;  they  're  generally  dooks,  or  earls,  or  barro- 
nites  —  nobody  wants  to  read  about  a  tinker." 

"  That  all  depends,"  said  I ;  "a  tinker  may  be  much 
more  interesting  than  an  earl  or  even  a  duke." 

The  Tinker  examined  the  piece  of  bacon  upon  his  knife- 
point with  a  cold  and  disparaging  eye. 

"  I  've  read  a  good  many  nov-els  in  my  time,"  said  he, 
shaking  his  head,  "and  I  knows  what  I  'm  talking  of ;  "  here 
he  bolted  the  morsel  of  bacon  Avith  much  apparent  relish. 
"  I  've  made  love  to  duchesses,  run  off  with  heiresses,  and 
fought  dooels  —  ah !  by  the  hundred  —  all  between  the 
covers  of  some  book  or  other  and  enjoyed  it  uncommonly 
well  —  especially  the  dooels.  If  you  can  get  a  little  blood 
into  your  book,  so  much  the  better ;  there  's  nothing  like  a 
little  blood  in  a  book  —  not  a  great  deal,  but  just  enough 
to  give  it  a  '  tang,'  so  to  speak ;  if  you  could  kill  your 
highwayman  to  start  with  it  would  be  a  very  good  begin- 
ning to  your  story." 

"  I  could  do  that,  certainly,"  said  I,  "  but  it  would  not 
be  according  to  fact." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  Tinker ;  "  who  wants 
facts  in  a  nov-el.''  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  And  then  again " 

"  What  more.'*  "  I  inquired. 

"  Love !  "  said  the  Tinker,  wiping  his  knife-blade  on  the 
leg  of  his  breeches. 

"  Love.'*  "  I  repeated. 

"  And  plenty  of  it,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  is  impossible,"  said  I,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 


Ante  Scriptum 


"  How  impossible  ?  " 

'*  Because  I  know  nothing  about  love." 

"  That 's  a  pity,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  it  is,"  said  I. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  Tinker,  beginning  to  scrub 
out  the  frying-pan  with  a  handful  of  grass,  "  though  to  be 
sure  you  might  learn;   you  're  young  enough." 

"  Yes,  I  might  learn,"  said  I ;  "  who  knows .''  " 

"  Ah  !  who  knows  ?  "  said  the  Tinker.  And  after  he  had 
cleansed  the  pan  to  his  satisfaction,  he  turned  to  me 
with  dexter  finger  upraised  and  brow  of  heavy  portent. 
"  Young  fellow,"  said  he,  "  no  man  can  write  a  good  nov-el 
without  he  knows  summat  about  love ;  it  are  n't  to  be 
expected  —  so  the  sooner  you  do  learn,  the  better." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  And  then,  as  I  said  afore  and  I  say  it  again,  they 
wants  love  in  a  book  nowadays,  and  wot 's  more  they  will 
have  it." 

"They.?"  said  I. 

"  The  folk  as  will  read  your  book  —  after  it  is  written." 

"  Ah !  to  be  sure,"  said  I,  somewhat  taken  aback ;  "  I 
had  forgotten  them." 

"  Forgotten  them?  "  repeated  the  Tinker,  staring. 

"  Forgotten  that  people  might  want  to  read  it  —  after 
it  is  written." 

"  But,"  said  the  Tinker,  rubbing  his  nose  hard,  "  books 
are  written  for  people  to  read,  are  n't  they?  " 

"  Not  always,"  said  I. 

Hereupon  the  Tinker  rubbed  his  nose  harder  than  ever. 

"  Many  of  the  world's  greatest  books,  those  master- 
pieces which  have  lived  and  shall  live  on  forever,  were  writ- 
ten (as  I  believe)  for  the  pure  love  of  writing  them." 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  Tinker. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  warming  to  my  theme,  "  and  with  little 
or  no  idea  of  the  eyes  of  those  unborn  generations  which 
were  to  read  and  marvel  at  them ;  hence  it  is  we  get  those 
sublime  thoughts  untrammelled  by  passing  tastes  and  fash- 
ions, unbounded  by  narrow  creed  or  popular  prejudice." 


4  The  Broad  Highway 

"Ah?  "said  the  Tinker. 

"  Many  a  great  writer  has  been  spoiled  by  fashion  and 
success,  for,  so  soon  as  he  begins  to  think  upon  his  public, 
how  best  to  please  and  hold  their  fancy  (which  is  ever  the 
most  fickle  of  mundane  things)  straightway  Genius  spreads 
abroad  his  pinions  and  leaves  him  in  the  mire." 

"  Poor  cove !  "  said  the  Tinker.  "  Young  man,  you 
smile,  I  think .''  " 

«  No,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  supposing  a  writer  never  had  no  gen'us  —  how 
then.?" 

"  Why  then,"  said  I,  "  he  should  never  dare  to  write  at 
all." 

"  Young  fellow,"  said  the  Tinker,  glancing  at  me  from 
the  corners  of  his  eyes,  "  are  you  sure  you  are  a  gen'us 
then.?" 

Now  when  my  companion  said  this  I  fell  silent,  for  the 
very  sufficient  reason  that  I  found  nothing  to  say. 

'*  Lord  love  you ! "  said  he  at  last,  seeing  me  thus 
"  hipped  "  —  "  don't  be  downhearted  —  don't  be  dashed 
afore  you  begin ;  we  can't  all  be  gen'uses  —  it  are  n't  to  be 
expected,  but  some  on  us  is  a  good  deal  better  than  most 
and  that 's  something  arter  all.  As  for  your  book,  wot 
you  have  to  do  is  to  give  'em  a  little  blood  now  and  then 
with  plenty  of  love  and  you  can't  go  far  wrong !  " 

Now  whether  the  Tinker's  theory  for  the  writing  of  a 
good  novel  be  right  or  wrong,  I  will  not  presume  to  say. 
But  in  this  book  that  lies  before  you,  though  you  shall  read, 
if  you  choose,  of  country  things  and  ways  and  people,  yet, 
because  that  part  of  my  life  herein  recorded  was  a  some- 
thing hard,  rough  life,  you  shall  read  also  of  blood ;  and, 
because  I  came,  in  the  end,  to  love  very  greatly,  so  shall 
you  read  of  love. 

Wherefore,  then,  I  am  emboldened  to  hope  that  when  you 
shall  have  turned  the  last  page  and  closed  this  book,  you 
shall  do  so  with  a  sigh. 

P.  V. 

LONBON. 


BOOK    ONE 


CHAPTER    I 

CHIEFLY    CONCERNING    MY     UNCLe's    LAST    WILL 
AND    TESTAMENT 

"  '  And  to  my  nephew,  Maurice  Vibart,  1  bequeath  the  sum 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  in  the  fervent  hope  that  it  may 
help  him  to  the  devil  within  the  year,  or  as  soon  after  as 
may  be.'  " 

Here  Mr.  Grainger  paused  in  his  reading  to  glance  up 
over  the  rim  of  his  spectacles,  while  Sir  Richard  lay  back 
in  his  chair  and  laughed  loudly.  "  Gad !  "  he  exclaimed, 
still  chuckling,  "  I  'd  give  a  hundred  pounds  if  he  could 
have  been  present  to  hear  that,"  and  the  baronet  went  off 
into  another  roar  of  merriment. 

Mr.  Grainger,  on  the  other  hand,  dignified  and  solemn, 
coughed  a  short,  dry  cough  behind  his  hand. 

"  Help  him  to  the  devil  within  the  year,"  repeated  Sir 
Richard,  still  chuckling. 

"  Pray  proceed,  sir,"  said  I,  motioning  towards  the  will. 
.  .  .  But  instead  of  complying,  Mr.  Grainger  laid  down 
the  parchment,  and  removing  his  spectacles,  began  to 
polish  them  with  a  large  silk  handkerchief. 

"  You  are,  I  believe,  unacquainted  with  your  cousin, 
Sir  Maurice  Vibart?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  have  never  seen  him,"  said  I ;  "  all  my  life  has  been 
passed  either  at  school  or  the  university,  but  I  have  fre- 
quently heard  mention  of  him,  nevertheless." 

"  Egad !  "  cried  Sir  Richard,  "  who  has  n't  heard  of 
Buck  Vibart  —  beat  Ted  Jar r away  of  Swansea  in  five 
rounds  —  drove  coach  and  four  down  Whitehall  —  on  side- 


6  The  Broad  Highway 

walk  —  ran  away  with  a  French  marquise  while  but  a  boy 
of  twenty,  and  shot  her  husband  into  the  bargain.  Devil- 
ish celebrated  figure  in  '  sporting  circles,'  friend  of  the 
Prince  Regent " 

"  So  I  understand,"  said  I. 

"  Altogether  as  complete  a  young  blackguard  as  ever 
swaggered  down  St.  James's."  Having  said  which.  Sir 
Richard  crossed  his  legs  and  inhaled  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Twenty  thousand  pounds  is  a  very  handsome  sum,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Grainger  ponderously  and  as  though  more 
with  the  intention  of  saying  something  rather  than  remain 
silent  just  then. 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  I,  "  and  might  help  a  man  to  the 
devil  as  comfortably  as  need  be,  but " 

"  Though,"  pursued  Mr.  Grainger,  "  much  below  his 
expectations  and  sadly  inadequate  to  his  present  needs, 
I  fear." 

"  That  is  most  unfortunate,"  said  I,  "  but " 

"  His  debts,"  said  Mr.  Grainger,  busy  at  his  spectacles 
again,  "  his  debts  are  very  heavy,  I  believe." 

"  Then  doubtless  some  arrangement  can  be  made  to  — 
but  continue  your  reading,  I  beg,"  said  I. 

Mr.  Grainger  repeated  his  short,  dry  cough  and  taking 
up  the  will,  slowly  and  almost  as  though  unwillingly, 
cleared  his  throat  and  began  as  follows : 

"  *  Furthermore,  to  my  nephew,  Peter  Vibart,  cousin  to 
the  above,  I  will  and  bequeath  my  blessing  and  the  sum  of 
ten  guineas  in  cash,  wherewith  to  purchase  a  copy  of  Zeno 
or  any  other  of  the  stoic  philosophers  he  may  prefer.'  " 

Again  Mr.  Grainger  laid  down  the  will,  and  again  he 
regarded  me  over  the  rim  of  his  spectacles. 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  Sir  Richard,  leaping  to  his  feet, 
"  the  man  must  have  been  mad.  Ten  guineas  —  why,  it 's 
an  insult  —  damme !  —  it  's  an  insult  —  you  '11  never  take 
it  of  course,  Peter." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,"  said  I. 


Concerning  my  Uncle's  Last  Will      7 

"  But  —  ten  guineas  !  "  bellowed  the  baronet ;  "  on  my 
soul  now,  George  was  a  cold-blooded  fish,  but  I  did  n't  think 
even  he  was  capable  of  such  a  despicable  trick  —  no  — 
curse  me  if  I  did !  Why,  it  would  have  been  kinder  to  have 
left  you  nothing  at  all  —  but  it  was  like  George  —  bitter 
to  the  end  —  ten  guineas !  " 

"  Is  ten  guineas,"  said  I,  "  and  when  one  comes  to  think 
of  it,  much  may  be  done  with  ten  guineas." 

Sir  Richard  grew  purple  in  the  face,  but  before  he  could 
speak,  Mr.  Grainger  began  to  read  again : 

"  '  Moreover,  the  sum  of  five  hundred  thousand  pounds, 
now  vested  in  the  funds,  shall  be  paid  to  either  Maurice 
or  Peter  Vibart  aforesaid,  if  either  shall,  within  one  cal- 
endar year,  become  the  husband  of  the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton 
of  Cambourne.'  " 

"  Good  God !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Richard. 

"  *  Failing  which,'  "  read  Mr.  Grainger,  "  '  the  said  sum, 
namely,  five  hundred  thousand  pounds,  shall  be  bestowed 
upon  such  charity  or  charities  as  the  trustees  shall  select. 
Signed  by  me,  this  tenth  day  of  April,  eighteen  hundred 

and ,    George    Vibaet.      Duly    witnessed   by    Adam 

Penfleet,  Maetha  Trent.'  " 

Here  Mr.  Grainger's  voice  stopped,  and  I  remember,  in 
the  silence  that  followed,  the  parchment  crackled  very 
loudly  as  he  folded  it  precisely  and  laid  it  on  the  table  be- 
fore him.  I  remember  also  that  Sir  Richard  was  swearing 
vehemently  under  his  breath  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  between 
me  and  the  window. 

"  And  that  is  all?  "  1  inquired  at  last. 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Grainger,  not  looking  at  me  now,  "  is 
all." 

"  The  Lady  Sophia,"  murmured  Sir  Richard  as  if  to 
himself,  "  the  Lady  Sophia !  "  And  then,  stopping  sud- 
denly before  me  in  his  walk,  "  Oh,  Peter !  "  said  he,  clap- 
ping his  hand  down  upon  my  shoulder,  "  oh,  Peter,  that 


8  The  Broad  Highway 

settles  it ;  you  're  done  for,  boy  —  a  crueller  will  was  never 
made." 

"  Marriage !  "  said  I  to  myself.     "  Hum !  " 

"  A  damnable  iniquity !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Richard,  strid- 
ing up  and  down  the  room  again. 

"  The  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  of  Cambourne !  "  said  I,  rub- 
bing my  chin. 

"Why,  that's  just  it,"  roared  the  baronet;  "she's  a 
reigning  toast  —  most  famous  beauty  in  the  country, 
London  's  mad  over  her  —  she  can  pick  and  choose  from 
all  the  finest  gentlemen  in  England.  Oh,  it 's  '  good-by  '  to 
all  your  hopes  of  the  inheritance,  Peter,  and  that 's  the  devil 
of  it." 

"  Sir,  I  fail  to  see  your  argument,"  said  I. 

"  What  ? "  cried  Sir  Richard,  facing  round  on  me, 
"  d'  you  think  you  'd  have  a  chance  with  her  then  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Without  friends,  position,  or  money  ?  Pish,  boy !  don't 
I  tell  you  that  every  buck  and  dandy  —  every  mincing 
macaroni  in  the  three  kingdoms  would  give  his  very  legs 
to  marry  her  —  either  for  her  beauty  or  her  fortune?" 
spluttered  the  baronet.  "  And  let  me  inform  you  further 
that  she  's  devilish  high  and  haughty  with  it  all  —  they  do 
say  she  even  rebuffed  the  Prince  Regent  himself." 

"  But  then,  sir,  I  consider  myself  a  better  man  than  the 
Prince  Regent,"  said  I. 

Sir  Richard  sank  into  the  nearest  chair  and  stared  at  me 
open-mouthed. 

"  Sir,"  I  continued,  "  you  doubtless  set  me  down  as  an 
egoist  of  egoists.  I  freely  confess  it ;  so  are  you,  so  is  Mr. 
Grainger  yonder,  so  are  we  all  of  us  egoists  in  thinking  our- 
selves as  good  as  some  few  of  our  neighbors  and  better 
than  a  great  many." 

"  Deuce  take  me !  "  said  Sir  Richard. 

*'  Referring  to  the  Lady  Sophia,  I  have  heard  that 
she  once  galloped  her  horse  up  the  steps  of  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral " 

"  And  down  again,  Peter,"  added  Sir  Richard. 


Concerning  my  Uncle's  Last  Will      9 

"  Also  she  is  said  to  be  possessed  of  a  temper,"  I  con- 
tinued, "  and  is  above  the  average  height,  I  believe,  and 
I  have  a  natural  antipathy  to  termagants,  more  especially 
tall  ones." 

"  Termagant !  "  cried  Sir  Richard.  "  Why,  she  's  the 
handsomest  woman  in  London,  boy.  She  's  none  of  your 
milk-and-watery,  meek-mouthed  misses  —  curse  me,  no ! 
She  's  all  fire  and  blood  and  high  mettle  —  a  woman,  sir  — 
glorious  —  divine  —  damme,  sir,  a  black-browed  goddess 
—  a  positive  plum !  " 

"  Sir  Richard,"  said  I,  "  should  I  ever  contemplate  mar- 
riage, which  is  most  improbable,  my  wife  must  be  sweet  and 
shy,  gentle-eyed  and  soft  of  voice,  instead  of  your  bold, 
strong-armed,  horse-galloping  creature;  above  all,  she 
must  be  sweet  and  clinging " 

"  Sweet  and  sticky,  oh,  the  devil !  Hark  to  the  boy, 
Grainger,"  cried  Sir  Richard,  "  hark  to  him  —  and  one 
glance  of  the  glorious  Sefton's  bright  eyes  —  one  glance 
only,  Grainger,  and  he  'd  be  at  her  feet  —  on  his  knees  — 
on  his  confounded  knees,  sir !  " 

"  The  question  is,  how  do  you  propose  to  maintain  your- 
self in  the  future?  "  said  Mr.  Grainger  at  this  point;  "  life 
under  your  altered  fortunes  must  prove  necessarily  hard, 
Mr.  Peter." 

"  And  yet,  sir,"  I  answered,  "  a  fortune  with  a  wife 
tagged  on  to  it  must  prove  a  very  mixed  blessing  after  all ; 
and  then  again,  there  may  be  a  certain  amount  of  satis- 
faction in  stepping  into  a  dead  man's  shoes,  but  I,  very 
foolishly,  perhaps,  have  a  hankering  for  shoes  of  ray  own. 
Surely  there  must  be  some  position  in  life  that  I  am  com- 
petent to  fill,  some  position  that  would  maintain  me  honor- 
ably and  well;  I  flatter  myself  that  my  years  at  Oxford 
were  not  altogether  barren  of  result " 

"  By  no  means,"  put  in  Sir  Richard ;  "  you  won  the 
High  Jump,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  did,"  said  I ;   "  also  '  Throwing  the  Hammer.'  " 

"  And  spent  two  thousand  pounds  per  annum  ?  "  said 
Sir  Richard. 


lo  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Sir,  I  did,  but  between  whiles  managed  to  do  fairly  well 
in  the  Tripos,  to  finish  a  new  and  original  translation  of 
Quintilian,  another  of  Petronius  Arbiter  and  also  a  literal 
rendering  into  the  English  of  the  Memoirs  of  the  Sieur  de 
Brantome." 

"  For  none  of  which  you  have  hitherto  found  a  pub- 
lisher? "  inquired  Mr.  Grainger. 

*'  Not  as  yet,"  said  I,  "  but  I  have  great  hopes  of  my 
Brantome,  as  you  are  probably  aware  this  is  the  first  time 
he  has  ever  been  translated  into  the  English." 

"  Hum !  "  said  Sir  Richard,  "  ha !  —  and  in  the  mean- 
time what  do  you  intend  to  do .''  " 

"  On  that  head  I  have  as  yet  come  to  no  definite  conclu- 
sion, sir,"  I  answered. 

"  I  have  been  wondering,"  began  Mr.  Grainger,  some- 
what diffidently,  "  if  you  would  care  to  accept  a  position 
in  my  office.  To  be  sure  the  remuneration  would  be  small 
at  first  and  quite  insignificant  in  comparison  to  the  income 
you  have  been  in  the  receipt  of." 

"  But  it  would  have  been  money  earned,"  said  I,  "  which 
is  infinitely  preferable  to  that  for  which  we  never  turn  a 
hand  —  at  least,  I  think  so." 

"  Then  you  accept  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I,  "  though  I  am  grateful  to  you,  and 
thank  you  most  sincerely  for  your  offer,  yet  I  have  never 
felt  the  least  inclination  to  the  practice  of  law ;  where  there 
is  no  interest  one's  work  must  necessarily  suffer,  and  I 
have  no  desire  that  your  business  should  be  injured  by  any 
carelessness  of  mine." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  private  tutorship .''  " 

"  It  would  suit  me  above  all  things  were  it  not  for  the 
fact  that  the  genus  *  Boy  '  is  the  most  aggravating  of  all 
animals,  and  that  I  am  conscious  of  a  certain  shortness  of 
temper  at  times,  which  might  result  in  pain  to  my  pupil, 
loss  of  dignity  to  myself,  and  general  unpleasantness  to  all 
concerned  —  otherwise  a  private  tutorship  would  suit  most 
admirably." 

Here  Sir  Richard  took  another  pinch  of  snuff  and  sat 


Concerning  my  Uncle's  Last  Will    1 1 

frowning  up  at  the  ceiling,  while  Mr.  Grainger  began  tying 
up  that  document  which  had  so  altered  my  prospects.  As 
for  me,  I  crossed  to  the  window  and  stood  staring  out  at  the 
evening.  Everywhere  were  trees  tinted  by  the  rosy  glow  of 
sunset,  trees  that  stirred  sleepily  in  the  gentle  wind,  and 
far  away  I  could  see  that  famous  highway,  built  and  paved 
for  the  march  of  Roman  Legions,  winding  away  to  where 
it  vanished  over  distant  Shooter's  Hill. 

"  And  pray,"  said  Sir  Richard,  still  frowning  at  the 
ceiling,  "  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  yourself?  " 

Now,  as  I  looked  out  upon  this  fair  evening,  I  became, 
of  a  sudden,  possessed  of  an  overmastering  desire,  a  great 
longing  for  field  and  meaaow  and  hedgerow,  for  wood  and 
coppice  and  shady  stream,  for  sequestered  inns  and  wide, 
wind-swept  heaths,  and  ever  the  broad  highway  in  front. 
Thus  I  answered  Sir  Richard's  question  unhesitatingly, 
and  without  turning  from  the  window: 

"  I  shall  go,  sir,  on  a  walking  tour  through  Kent  and 
Surrey  into  Devonshire,  and  thence  probably  to  Cornwall." 

"  And  with  a  miserable  ten  guineas  in  your  pocket  ? 
Preposterous  —  absurd !  "  retorted  Sir  Richard. 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,"  said  I,  "  the  more  I  ponder  the 
project,  the  more  enamored  of  it  I  become." 

"  And  when  your  money  is  all  gone  —  how  then?  " 

"  I  shall  turn  my  hand  to  some  useful  employment,"  said 
I ;   "  digging,  for  instance." 

"Digging!"  ejaculated  Sir  Richard,  "and  you  a 
scholar  —  and  what  is  more,  a  gentleman !  " 

"  My  dear  Sir  Richard,"  said  I,  "  that  all  depends  upon 
how  you  would  define  a  gentleman.  To  me  he  would  ap- 
pear, of  late  years,  to  have  degenerated  into  a  creature 
whose  chief  end  in  life  is  to  spend  money  he  has  never 
earned,  to  reproduce  his  species  with  a  deplorable  frequency 
and  promiscuity,  habitually  to  drink  more  than  is  good 
for  him,  and,  between  whiles,  to  fill  in  his  time  hunting, 
cock-fighting,  or  watching  entranced  while  two  men  pound 
each  other  unrecognizable  in  the  prize  ring.  Occasionally 
he  has  the  good  taste  to  break  his  neck  in  the  hunting  field, 


12  The  Broad  Highway 

or  get  himself  gloriously  shot  in  a  duel,  but  the  generality 
live  on  to  a  good  old  age,  turn  their  attention  to  matters 
political  and,  following  the  dictates  of  their  class,  damn 
all  reform  with  a  whole-hearted  fervor  equalled  only  by 
their  rancor." 

"  Deuce  take  me !  "  ejaculated  Sir  Richard  feebly,  while 
Mr.  Grainger  buried  his  face  in  his  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  To  my  mind,"  I  ended,  "  the  man  who  sweats  over  a 
spade  or  follows  the  tail  of  a  plough  is  far  nobler  and 
higher  in  the  Scheme  of  Things  than  any  of  your  young 
*  bloods  '  driving  his  coach  and  four  to  Brighton  to  the 
danger  of  all  and  sundry." 

Sir  Richard  slowly  got  up  out  of  his  chair,  staring  at  me 
open-mouthed.  "  Good  God !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last,  "  the 
boy  's  a  Revolutionary." 

I  smiled  and  shrugged  my  shoulders,  but,  before  I  could 
speak,  Mr.  Grainger  interposed,  sedate  and  solemn  as 
usual  : 

"  Referring  to  your  proposed  tour,  Mr.  Peter,  when 
do  you  expect  to  start.''  " 

"  Early  to-morrow  morning,  sir." 

"  I  will  not  attempt  to  dissuade  you,  well  knowing  the 
difficulty,"  said  he,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  but  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  me  at  Lincoln's  Inn  will  always  find  me  and 
receive  my  most  earnest  attention."  So  saying,  he  rose, 
bowed,  and  having  shaken  my  hand,  left  the  room,  closing 
the  door  behind  him. 

"  Peter,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  striding  up  and  down, 
"  Peter,  you  are  a  fool,  sir,  a  hot-headed,  self-sufficient, 
pragmatical  young  fool,  sir,  curse  me !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  think  so,"  I  answered. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  regarding  me  with  a  defiant  eye, 
"  I  shall  expect  you  to  draw  upon  me  for  any  sum  that  — 
that  you  may  require  for  the  present  —  friendship's  sake  — 
boyhood  and  —  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  —  er  —  oh, 
damme,  you  understand,  Peter?  " 

"  Sir  Richard,"  said  I,  grasping  his  unwilling  hand,  "  T 
—  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 


Concerning  my  Uncle's  Last  Will    1 3 

"  Pooh,  Peter,  dammit !  "  said  he,  snatching  his  hand 
away  and  thrusting  it  hurriedly  into  his  pocket,  out  of 
farther  reach. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  I  reiterated ;  "  be  sure  that  should 
I  fall  ill  or  any  unforeseen  calamity  happen  to  me,  I  wUl 
most  gladly,  most  gratefully  accept  your  generous  aid  in 
the  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered,  but " 

"  But?  "  exclaimed  Sir  Richard. 

"  Until  then » 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  "  said  Sir  Richard,  and  ringing  the  bell 
ordered  his  horse  to  be  brought  to  the  door,  and  thereafter 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace,  his  fists  thrust 
down  into  his  pockets,  frowning  heavily  and  with  a  fixed 
intentness  at  the  nearest  armchair. 

Sir  Richard  Anstruther  is  tall  and  broad,  ruddy  of  face, 
with  a  prominent  nose  and  great  square  chin  whose  grim- 
ness  is  offset  by  a  mouth  singularly  sweet  and  tender,  and 
the  kindly  light  of  blue  eyes ;  he  is  in  very  truth  a  gentle- 
man. Indeed,  as  he  stood  there  in  his  plain  blue  coat  with 
its  high  roll  collar  and  shining  silver  buttons,  his  spotless 
moleskins  and  heavy,  square-toed  riding  boots,  he  was  as 
fair  a  type  as  might  be  of  the  English  country  gentleman. 
It  is  such  men  as  he,  who,  fearless  upon  the  littered  quarter- 
decks of  reeling  battleships,  undismayed  amid  the  smoke 
and  death  of  stricken  fields,  their  duty  well  and  nobly  done, 
have  turned  their  feet  homewards  to  pass  their  latter  days 
amid  their  turnips  and  cabbages,  beating  their  swords  into 
pruning-hooks,  and  glad  enough  to  do  it. 

"  Peter,"  said  he  suddenly. 

"Sir.?"  said  I. 

"  You  never  saw  your  father  to  remember,  did  you.''  " 

"  No,  Sir  Richard." 

"  Nor  your  mother.''  " 

"  Nor  my  mother." 

"  Poor  boy  —  poor  boy !  " 

"  You  knew  my  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  Peter,  I  knew  your  mother,"  said  Sir  Richard, 
staring  very  hard  at  the  chair  again,  and  1  saw  that  his 


14  The  Broad  Highway 

mouth  had  grown  wonderfully  tender.  "  Yours  has  been 
a  very  secluded  life  hitherto,  Peter,"  he  went  on  after  a 
moment. 

"  Entirely  so,"  said  I,  "  with  the  exception  of  ray  never- 
to-be-forgotten  visits  to  the  Hall." 

'*  Ah,  yes,  I  taught  you  to  ride,  remember." 

"  You  are  associated  with  every  boyish  pleasure  I  ever 
knew,"  said  I,  laying  my  hand  upon  his  arm.  Sir  Richard 
coughed  and  grew  suddenly  red  in  the  face. 

"  Why  —  ah  —  you  see,  Peter,"  he  began,  picking  up 
his  riding  whip  and  staring  at  it,  "  you  see  your  uncle 
was  never  very  fond  of  company  at  any  time,  whereas 
I " 

"  Whereas  you  could  always  find  time  to  remember  the 
lonely  boy  left  when  all  his  companions  were  gone  on  their 
holidays  —  left  to  his  books  and  the  dreary  desolation  of 
the  empty  schoolhouse,  and  echoing  cloisters " 

"  Pooh ! "  exclaimed  Sir  Richard,  redder  than  ever. 
"  Bosh !  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  ever  forget  the  glorious  day  when 
you  drove  over  in  your  coach  and  four,  and  carried  me  off 
in  triumph,  and  how  we  raced  the  white-hatted  fellow  in  the 
tilbury ?  " 

"  And  beat  him !  "  added  Sir  Richard. 

"  Took  off  his  near  wheel  on  the  turn,"  said  I. 

"  The  fool's  own  fault,"  said  Sir  Richard. 

"  And  left  him  in  the  ditch,  cursing  us  !  "  said  I. 

**  Egad,  yes,  Peter !  Oh,  but  those  were  fine  horses  — 
and  though  I  say  it,  no  better  team  in  the  south  country. 
You  '11  remember  the  '  off  wheeler '  broke  his  leg  shortly 
after  and  had  to  be  shot,  poor  devil." 

'*  And  later,  at  Oxford,"  I  began. 

**  What  now,  Peter?  "  said  Sir  Richard,  frowning  darkly. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  bronze  vase  that  used  to  stand 
on  the  mantelpiece  in  my  study?  " 

"  Bronze  vase?  "  repeated  Sir  Richard,  intent  upon  his 
whip  again. 

"  I  used  to  find  bank-notes  in  it  after  you  had  visited  me, 


Concerning  my  Uncle's  Last  Will    1 5 

and  when  I  hid  the  vase  they  turned  up  just  the  same  in 
most  unexpected  places." 

"  Young  fellow  —  must  have  money  —  necessary  —  now 
and  then,"  muttered  Sir  Richard. 

At  this  juncture,  with  a  discreet  knock,  the  butler  ap- 
peared to  announce  that  Sir  Richard's  horse  was  waiting. 
Hereupon  the  baronet,  somewhat  hastily,  caught  up  his 
hat  and  gloves,  and  I  followed  him  out  of  the  house  and 
down  the  steps. 

Sir  Richard  drew  on  his  gloves,  thrust  his  toe  into  the 
stirrup,  and  then  turned  to  look  at  me  over  his  arm. 

"  Peter,"  said  he. 

"Sir  Richard.?"  said  I. 

"  Regarding  your  walking  tour " 

"Yes?" 

"  I  think  it 's  all  damned  tomfoolery !  "  said  Sir  Richard. 
After  saying  which  he  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  with 
a  lightness  and  ease  that  many  younger  might  have  envied. 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  that,  sir,  because  my  mind  is  set  upon 
it." 

"  With  ten  guineas  in  your  pocket !  " 

"  That,  with  due  economy,  should  be  ample  until  I  can 
find  some  means  to  earn  more." 

"  A  fiddlestick,  sir  —  an  accursed  fiddlestick !  "  snorted 
Sir  Richard.  "  How  is  a  boy,  an  unsophisticated,  hot- 
headed young  fool  of  a  boy  to  earn  his  own  living.''  " 

"  Others  have  done  it,"  I  began. 

"  Pish !  "  said  the  baronet. 

"  And  been  the  better  for  it  in  the  end." 

"  Tush !  "  said  the  baronet. 

"  And  I  have  a  great  desire  to  see  the  world  from  the 
viewpoint  of  the  multitude.'* 

"  Bah ! "  said  the  baronet,  so  forcibly  that  his  mare 
started ;  "  this  comes  of  your  damnable  Revolutionary  ten- 
dencies. Let  me  tell  you,  Want  is  a  hard  master,  and  the 
world  a  bad  place  for  one  who  is  moneyless  and  without 
friends." 

"  You  forget,  sir,  I  shall  never  be  without  a  friend." 


i6  The  Broad  Highway 

"  God  knows  it,  boy,"  answered  Sir  Richard,  and  his 
hand  fell  and  rested  for  a  moment  upon  my  shoulder. 
"  Peter,"  said  he,  very  slowly  and  heavily,  "  I  'm  growing 
old  —  and  I  shall  never  marry  —  and  sometimes,  Peter, 
of  an  evening  I  get  very  lonely  and  —  lonely,  Peter."  He 
stopped  for  a  while,  gazing  away  towards  the  green  slopes 
of  distant  Shooter's  Hill.  "  Oh,  boy !  "  said  he  at  last, 
"  won't  you  come  to  the  Hall  and  help  me  to  spend  my 
money.''  " 

Without  answering  I  reached  up  and  clasped  his  hand; 
it  was  the  hand  which  held  his  whip,  and  I  noticed  how 
tightly  he  gripped  the  handle,  and  wondered. 

"  Sir  Richard,"  said  I  at  last,  "  wherever  I  go  I  shall 
treasure  the  recollection  of  this  moment,  but " 

"  But,  Peter.?  " 

"  But,  sir " 

"  Oh,  dammit !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  set  spurs  to  his  mare. 
Yet  once  he  turned  in  his  saddle  to  flourish  his  whip  to 
me  ere  he  galloped  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER    II 

I    SET    OUT 

The  clock  of  the  square-towered  Norman  charch,  a  mile 
away,  was  striking  the  hour  of  four  as  I  let  myself  out 
into  the  morning.  It  was  dark  as  yet,  and  chilly,  but  in 
the  east  was  already  a  faint  glimmer  of  dawn.  Reaching 
the  stables,  I  paused  with  my  hand  on  the  door-hasp,  listen- 
ing to  the  hiss,  hissing  that  told  me  Adam,  the  groom,  was 
already  at  work  within.  As  I  entered  he  looked  up  from 
the  saddle  he  was  polishing  and  touched  his  forehead  with 
a  grimy  forefinger. 

"  You  be  early  abroad,  Mr.  Peter." 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  I  wish  to  be  on  Shooter's  HiU  at  sun- 
rise ;    but  first  I  came  to  say  '  good-by  '  to  '  Wings.'  " 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,"  nodded  Adam,  picking  up  his 
lanthorn. 

Upon  the  ensuing  interview  I  will  not  dwell;  it  was 
affecting  both  to  her  and  to  myself,  for  we  were  mutually 
attached. 

"  Sir,"  said  Adam,  when  at  last  the  stable  door  had 
closed  behind  us,  "  that  there  mare  knows  as  you  're 
a-leaving  her." 

"  I  think  she  does,  Adam." 

"  'Osses  be  wonderful  wise,  sir !  " 

"  Yes,  Adam." 

"  This  is  a  bad  day  for  Wings,  sir  —  and  all  of  us,  for 
that  matter." 

"  I  hope  not,  Adam." 

"  You  be  a-going  away,  they  tell  me,  sir.''  " 

"  Yes,  going  away,"  I  nodded. 


1 8  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Wonder  what  '11  become  o'  the  mare,  sir  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  wonder,"  said  I. 

"  Everything  to  be  sold  under  the  will,  I  think,  sir?  " 

"  Everything,  Adam." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  he,  knuckling  his  forehead,  "  you 
won't  be  wanting  ever  a  groom,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Adam,"  I  answered,  shaking  my  head,  "  I  sha'n't 
be  wanting  a  groom." 

"  Nor  yet  a  body  servant,  sir?  " 

"  No,  Adam,  nor  yet  a  body  servant." 

Here  there  ensued  a  silence  during  which  Adam  knuckled 
his  right  temple  again  and  I  tightened  the  buckle  of  my 
knapsack. 

"  I  think,  Adam,"  said  I,  "  I  think  it  is  going  to  be  a 
fine  day." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good-by,  Adam !  "  said  I,  and  held  out  my  hand. 

"  Good-by,  sir."  And,  having  shaken  my  hand,  he 
turned  and  went  back  into  the  stable. 

So  I  set  off,  walking  beneath  an  avenue  of  trees  loom- 
ing up  gigantic  on  either  hand.  At  the  end  was  the  lodge 
and,  ere  I  opened  the  gates  —  for  John,  the  lodgekeeper, 
was  not  yet  astir  —  ere  I  opened  the  gates,  I  say,  I  paused 
for  one  last  look  at  the  house  that  had  been  all  the  home 
I  had  ever  known  since  I  could  remember.  As  I  stood 
thus,  with  my  eyes  upon  the  indistinct  mass,  I  presently 
distinguished  a  figure  running  towards  me  and,  as  he  came 
up,  recognized  Adam. 

"  It  ain't  much,  sir,  but  it 's  all  I  'ave,"  said  he,  and 
thrust  a  short,  thick,  well-smoked  clay  pipe  into  my  hand 
—  a  pipe  that  was  fashioned  to  the  shape  of  a  negro's 
head.  "  It 's  a  good  pipe,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  a  mortal 
good  pipe,  and  as  sweet  as  a  nut !  "  saying  which,  he  turned 
about  and  ran  off,  leaving  me  standing  there  with  his  part- 
ing gift  in  my  hand. 

And  having  put  the  pipe  into  an  inner  pocket,  I  opened 
the  gate  and  started  off  at  a  good  pace  along  the  broad 
highway. 


I  Set  Out  19 

It  was  a  bleak,  desolate  world  that  lay  about  me,  a  world 
of  shadows  and  a  white,  low-lying  mist  that  filled  every 
hollow  and  swathed  hedge  and  tree ;  a  lowering  earth  and 
a  frowning  heaven  infinitely  depressing.  But  the  eastern 
sky  was  clear  with  an  ever-growing  brightness ;  hope  lay 
there,  so,  as  I  walked,  I  kept  my  eyes  towards  the  east. 

Being  come  at  last  to  that  eminence  which  is  called 
Shooter's  Hill,  I  sat  down  upon  a  bank  beside  the  way  and 
turned  to  look  back  upon  the  wonderful  city.  And  as  I 
watched,  the  pearly  east  changed  little  by  little,  to  a 
varying  pink,  which  in  turn  slowly  gave  place  to  reds  and 
yellows,  until  up  came  the  sun  in  all  his  majesty,  gilding 
vane  and  weathercock  upon  a  hundred  spires  and  steeples, 
and  making  a  glory  of  the  river.  Far  away  upon  the 
white  riband  of  road  that  led  across  Blackheath,  a  chaise 
was  crawling,  but  save  for  that  the  world  seemed  deserted. 

I  sat  thus  a  great  while  gazing  upon  the  city  and  mar- 
velling at  the  greatness  of  it. 

"  Truly,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  nowliere  in  the  whole  world 
is  there  such  another  city  as  London ! "  And  presently  I 
sighed  and,  rising,  set  my  back  to  the  city  and  went  on 
down  the  hill. 

Yes  —  the  sun  was  up  at  last,  and  at  his  advent  the 
mists  rolled  up  and  vanished,  the  birds  awoke  in  brake  and 
thicket  and,  lifting  their  voices,  sang  together,  a  song  of 
universal  praise.  Bushes  rustled,  trees  whispered,  while 
from  every  leaf  and  twig,  from  every  blade  of  grass,  there 
hung  a  flasliing  jewel. 

With  the  mists  my  doubts  of  the  future  vanished  too, 
and  I  strode  upon  my  way,  a  very  god,  king  of  my  des- 
tiny, walking  through  a  tribute  world  where  feathered 
songsters  carolled  for  me  and  blossoming  flowers  wafted 
sweet  perfume  upon  my  path.  So  I  went  on  gayly  down 
the  hill,  rejoicing  that  I  was  alive. 

In  the  knapsack  at  my  back  I  had  stowed  a  few  clothes, 
the  strongest  and  plainest  I  possessed,  together  with  a 
shirt,  some  half-dozen  favorite  books,  and  my  translation 
of  Brantome ;    Quintilian   and   Petronius   I  had  left  with 


20  The  Broad  Highway 

Mr.  Grainger,  who  had  promised  to  send  them  to  a  pub- 
lisher, a  friend  of  his,  and  in  my  pocket  was  my  uncle 
George's  legacy,  —  namely,  ten  guineas  in  gold.  And,  as 
I  walked,  I  began  to  compute  how  long  such  a  sum  might 
be  made  to  last  a  man.  By  practising  the  strictest  econ- 
omy, I  thought  I  might  manage  well  enough  on  two  shil- 
lings a  day,  and  this  left  me  some  hundred  odd  days  in 
which  to  find  some  means  of  livelihood,  and  if  a  man  could 
not  suit  himself  in  such  time,  then  (thought  I)  he  must 
be  a  fool  indeed. 

Thus,  my  thoughts  caught  something  of  the  glory  of 
the  bright  sky  above  and  the  smiling  earth  about  me,  as 
I  strode  along  that  "  Broad  Highway  "  which  was  to  lead 
me  I  knew  not  whither,  yet  where  disaster  was  already 
lying  in  wait  for  me  —  as  you  shall  hear. 


CHAPTER    III 

CONCERNS    ITSELF    MAINLY    WITH    A    HAT 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  sun  beat  down  with  an  ever- 
increasing  heat,  and  what  with  this  and  the  dust  I  pres- 
ently grew  very  thirsty  ;  wherefore,  as  I  went,  I  must  needs 
conjure  up  tantahzing  visions  of  ale  —  of  ale  that  foamed 
gloriously  in  tankards,  that  sparkled  in  glasses,  and  gur- 
gled deliciously  from  the  spouts  of  earthen  pitchers,  and 
I  began  to  look  about  me  for  some  inn  where  these  visions 
might  be  realized  and  my  burning  thirst  nobly  quenched 
(as  such  a  thirst  deserved  to  be).  On  I  went,  through  this 
beautiful  land  of  Kent,  past  tree  and  hedge  and  smiling 
meadow,  by  hill  and  dale  and  sloping  upland,  while  ever 
the  sun  grew  hotter,  the  winding  road  the  dustier,  and  my 
mighty  thirst  the  mightier. 

At  length,  reaching  the  brow  of  a  hill,  I  espied  a  small 
inn  or  hedge  tavern  that  stood  back  from  the  glare  of  the 
road,  seeming  to  nestle  in  the  shade  of  a  great  tree,  and 
joyfully  I  hastened  toward  it. 

As  I  approached  I  heard  loud  voices,  raised  as  though 
in  altercation,  and  a  hat  came  hurtling  through  the  open 
doorway  and,  bounding  into  the  road,  rolled  over  and  over 
to  my  very  feet.  And,  looking  down  at  it,  I  saw  that  it 
was  a  very  ill-used  hat,  frayed  and  worn,  dented  of  cro\^Ti 
and  broken  of  brim,  yet  beneath  its  sordid  shabbiness  there 
lurked  the  dim  semblance  of  what  it  had  once  been,  for,  in 
the  scratched  and  tarnished  buckle,  in  the  jaunty  curl  of 
the  brim,  it  still  preserved  a  certain  pitiful  air  of  rakish- 
ness ;  wherefore,  I  stooped,  and,  picking  it  up,  began  to 
brush  the  dust  from  it  as  well  as  I  might. 


2  2  The  Broad  Highway 

I  was  thus  engaged  when  there  arose  a  sudden  bull-like 
roar  and,  glancing  up,  I  beheld  a  man  who  reeled  back- 
wards out  of  the  inn  and  who,  after  staggering  a  yard  or 
so,  thudded  down  into  the  road  and  so  lay,  staring  va- 
cantly up  at  the  sky.  Before  I  could  reach  him,  however, 
he  got  upon  his  legs  and,  crossing  unsteadily  to  the  tree 
I  have  mentioned,  leaned  there,  and  I  saw  there  was  much 
blood  upon  his  face  which  he  essayed  to  wipe  away  with 
the  cuff  of  his  coat.  Now,  upon  his  whole  person,  from 
the  crown  of  his  unkempt  head  down  to  his  broken, 
dusty  boots,  there  yet  clung  that  air  of  jaunty,  devil- 
may-care  rakishness  which  I  had  seen,  and  pitied  in  his 
hat. 

Observing,  as  I  came  up,  how  heavily  he  leaned  against 
the  tree,  and  noting  the  extreme  pallor  of  his  face  and  the 
blank  gaze  of  his  sunken  eyes,  I  touched  him  upon  the 
shoulder. 

"  Sir,  I  trust  you  are  not  hurt?  "  said  I. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered,  his  glance  still  wandering, 
"  not  in  the  least  —  assure  you  - —  merely  tap  on  the  nose, 
sir  —  unpleasant  —  damnably,  but  no  more,  no  more." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  holding  out  the  battered  hat,  "  I 
think  this  is  yours.?  " 

His  eye  encountering  it  in  due  time,  he  reached  out  his 
hand  somewhat  fumblingly,  and  took  it  from  me  with  a 
slight  movement  of  the  head  and  shoulders  that  might 
have  been  a  bow. 

"  Thank  you  —  yes  —  should  know  it  among  a  thou- 
sand," said  he  dreamily,  "  an  old  friend  and  a  tried  —  a 
very  much  tried  one  —  many  thanks."  With  which  words 
he  clapped  the  much-tried  friend  upon  his  head,  and  with 
another  movement  that  might  have  been  a  bow,  turned 
short  round  and  strode  away.  And  as  he  went,  despite 
the  careless  swing  of  his  shoulder,  his  legs  seemed  to  falter 
somewhat  in  their  stride  and  once  I  thought  he  staggered ; 
yet,  as  I  watched,  half  minded  to  follow  after  him,  he  set- 
tled his  hat  more  firmly  with  a  light  tap  upon  the  crown 
and,  thrusting  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  threadbare 


Concerns  itself  mainly  with  a  Hat    23 

coat,  fell  to  whistling  lustily,  and  so,  turning  a  bend  in 
the  road,  vanished  from  my  sight. 

And  presently,  my  thirst  recurring  to  me,  I  approached 
the  inn,  and  descending  three  steps  entered  its  cool  shade. 
Here  I  found  four  men,  each  with  his  pipe  and  tankard, 
to  whom  a  large,  red-faced,  big-fisted  fellow  was  holding 
forth  in  a  high  state  of  heat  and  indignation. 

"  Wot 's  England  a-comin'  to?  —  that's  wot  I  wants 
to  know,"  he  was  saying ;  "  wot 's  England  a-comin'  to 
when  thievin'  robbers  can  come  a-walkin'  in  on  you  a-stealin' 
a  pint  o'  your  best  ale  out  o'  your  very  own  tankard  under 
your  very  own  nose  —  wot 's  it  a-comin'  to  ?  " 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  others  solemnly,  "  that 's  it,  Joel  — 
wot?" 

"  W'y,"  growled  the  red-faced  innkeeper,  bringing  his 
big  fist  down  with  a  bang,  "  it 's  a-comin'  to  per — dition ; 
that 's  wot  it 's  a-comin'  to !  " 

"  And  wot,"  inquired  a  rather  long,  bony  man  with  a 
face  half-hidden  in  sandy  whisker,  "  wot  might  per — dition 
be,  Joel;   likewise,  wheer?  " 

"  You  must  be  a  danged  fule,  Tom,  my  lad ! "  retorted 
he  whom  they  called  Joel,  redder  in  the  face  than  ever. 

"  Ay,  that  ye  must !  "  chorused  the  others. 

"  I  only  axed  'wot  an'  wheer." 

"  Only  axed,  did  ye?  "  repeated  Joel  scornfully. 

"  Ah,"  nodded  the  other,  "  that 's  all." 

"  But  you  're  always  a-axin',  you  are,"  said  Joel 
gloomily. 

"  W'ich  I  notice,"  retorted  the  man  Tom,  blowing  into 
his  tankard,  "  w'ich  I  notice  as  you  ain't  never  over-fond 
o'  answerin'." 

"Oh!  — I  ain't,  ain't  I?  " 

"  No,  you  ain't,"  repeated  Tom,  "  nohow." 

Here  the  red-faced  man  grew  so  very  red  indeed  that 
the  others  fell  to  coughing,  all  together,  and  shuffling  their 
feet  and  giving  divers  other  evidences  of  their  embarrass- 
ment, all  save  the  unimpressionable  Tom. 

Seizing  the  occasion  that  now  presented  itself,  I  knodced 


24  The  Broad  Highway 

loudly  upon  the  floor  with  my  stick,  whereupon  the  red- 
faced  man,  removing  his  eyes  slowly  and  by  degrees  from 
the  unconcerned  Tom,  fixed  them  darkly  upon  me. 

"  Supposing,"  said  I,  "  supposing  you  are  so  very 
obliging  as  to  serve  me  with  a  pint  of  ale?  " 

"  Then  supposin'  you  show  me  the  color  o'  your 
money?  "  he  growled,  "  come,  money  fust;  I  are  n't  takin' 
no  more  risks." 

For  answer  I  laid  the  coins  before  him.  And  having 
pocketed  the  money,  he  filled  and  thrust  a  foaming  tankard 
towards  me,  which  I  emptied  forthwith  and  called  upon 
him  for  another. 

"  Wheer  's  your  money  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  I,  tossing  a  sixpence  to  him,  "  and  you 
can  keep  the  change." 

"  Why,  ye  see,  sir,"  he  began,  somewhat  mollified,  '*  it 
be  precious  'ard  to  know  who  's  a  gentleman,  an'  who  ain't ; 
who  's  a  thief,  an'  who  ain't  these  days." 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  only  a  little  while  ago  —  just  afore  you  —  chap 
comes  a-walkin'  in  'ere,  no  account  much  to  look  at,  but 
very  'aughty  for  all  that  —  comes  a-walkin  in  'ere  'e  do 
an'  calls  for  a  pint  o'  ale  —  you  'eard  'ira,  all  on  ye?  "  He 
broke  off,  turning  to  the  others ;  "  you  all  'eard  'im  call 
for  a  pint  o'  ale?  " 

"  Ah  —  we  'eard  'im,"  they  nodded. 

"  Comes  a-walkin'  in  'ere  'e  do,  bold  as  brass  —  I  calls 
for  a  pint  o'  ale  —  drinks  it  off,  an'  —  'ands  me  'is  'at ; 
you  all  seen  'im  'and  me  'is  'at  ?  "  he  inquired,  once  more 
addressing  the  others. 

"  Every  man  of  us,"  the  four  chimed  in  with  four  in- 
dividual nods. 

"  '  Wot 's  this  'ere?  '  says  I,  tumin'  it  over.  '  It 's  a 
'at,  or  once  was,'  says  'e.  '  Well,  I  don't  want  it,'  says  I. 
*  Since  you  've  got  it  you  'd  better  keep  it,'  says  'e.  '  Wot 
for?  '  says  I?  '  Why,'  says  'e,  *  it 's  only  fair  seein'  I  've 
got  your  ale  —  it 's  a  case  of  exchange,'  says  'e.  '  Oh !  is 
it?  '  says  I,  an'  pitched  the  thing  out  into  the  road  an'  'im 


Concerns  itself  mainly  with  a  Hat   25 

arter  it  —  an'  so  it  ended.  An'  wot,"  said  the  red- faced 
man  nodding  his  big  head  at  me,  "  wot  d'  ye  think  o'  that 
now?  " 

"  Why,  I  think  you  were  perhaps  a  trifle  hasty,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  ye  do,  do  ye?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"An'  for  why?" 

"  Well,  you  will  probably  remember  that  the  hat  had 
a  band  round  it " 

"  Ay,  all  wore  away  it  were  too 


"  And  that  in  the  band  was  a  buckle " 

Ay,  all  scratched  an'  rusty  it  were  —  well? 
Well,  that  tarnished  buckle  was  of  silver 


"  Silver!"  gasped  the  man,  his  jaw  falling. 

"  And  easily  worth  five  shillings,  perhaps  more,  so  that 
I  think  you  were,  upon  the  whole,  rather  hasty."  Saying 
which,  I  finished  my  ale  and,  taking  up  my  staff,  stepped 
out  into  the  sunshine. 


CHAPTER    IV 

I   MEET    WITH    A    GREAT    MISFOETUNE 

That  day  I  passed  through  several  villages,  stopping 
only  to  eat  and  drink ;  thus  evening  was  falling  as,  having 
left  fair  Sevenoaks  behind,  I  came  to  the  brow  of  a  certain 
hill,  a  long  and  very  steep  descent  which  (I  think)  is  called 
the  River  Hill.  And  here,  rising  stark  against  the  even- 
ing sky,  was  a  gibbet,  and  standing  beneath  it  a  man,  a 
short,  square  man  in  a  somewhat  shabby  coat  of  a  bottle- 
green,  and  with  a  wide-brimmed  beaver  hat  sloped  down 
over  his  eyes,  who  stood  with  his  feet  well  apart,  sucking 
the  knob  of  a  stick  he  carried,  while  he  stared  up  at  that 
which  dangled  by  a  stout  chain  from  the  cross-beam  of  the 
gibbet,  —  something  black  and  shrivelled  and  horrible  that 
had  once  been  human. 

As  I  came  up,  the  man  drew  the  stick  from  his  mouth 
and  touched  the  brim  of  his  hat  with  it  in  salutation. 

"  An  object  lesson,  sir,"  said  he,  and  nodded  towards 
the  loathsome  mass  above. 

"  A  very  hideous  one !  "  said  I,  pausing,  "  and  I  think 
a  very  useless  one." 

"  He  was  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  thrust  toe  Into  stirrup," 
the  man  went  on,  pointing  upwards  with  his  stick,  "  though 
you  'd  never  think  so  to  look  at  him  now !  " 

"  It 's  a  horrible  sight !  "  said  I. 

"  It  is,"  nodded  the  man,  "  it 's  a  sight  to  turn  a  man's 
stomach,  that  it  is  !  " 

"  You  knew  him  perhaps.''  "  said  I. 

"  Knew  him,"  repeated  the  man,  staring  at  me  over  his 
shoulder,  "  knew  him  —  ah  —  that  is,  I  knew  of  him." 


I  Meet  with  a  Great  Misfortune     27 

"  A  highwayman?  " 

"  Nick  Scrope  his  name  was,"  answered  the  man  with 
a  nod,  "  hung  at  Maidstone  assizes  last  year,  and  a  very 
good  end  ho  made  of  it  too ;  and  here  he  be  —  hung  up 
in  chains  all  nat'ral  and  reg'lar,  as  a  warning  to  all  and 
sundry." 

"  The  more  shame  to  England,"  said  I ;  "to  my  think- 
ing it  is  a  scandal  that  our  highways  should  be  rendered 
odious  by  such  horrors,  and  as  wicked  as  it  is  useless." 

"  'Od  rot  me ! "  cried  the  fellow,  slapping  a  cloud  of 
dust  from  his  coat  with  his  stick,  "  hark  to  that  now." 

"  What.'*  "  said  I,  "  do  you  think  for  one  moment  that 
such  a  sight,  horrible  though  it  is,  could  possibly  deter  a 
man  from  robbery  or  murder  whose  mind  is  already  made 
up  to  it  by  reason  of  circumstances  or  star^'ation .?  " 

"  Well,  but  it 's  an  old  custom,  as  old  as  this  here  road." 

"  True,"  said  I,  "  and  that  of  itself  but  proves  my  argu- 
ment, for  men  have  been  hanged  and  gibbeted  all  these 
years,  yet  robbery  and  murder  abide  with  us  still,  and  are 
of  daily  occurrence." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  sir,"  said  the  man,  falling  into  step 
beside  me  as  I  walked  on  down  the  hill,  "  I  won't  say  yes 
and  I  won't  say  no,  but  what  I  do  say  is  —  as  many  a  man 
might  think  twice  afore  running  the  chance  of  coming  to 
that  —  look !  "  And  he  stopped  to  turn,  and  point  back 
at  the  gibbet  with  his  stick.  "  Nick  can't  last  much  longer, 
though  I  've  know'd  'em  hang  a  good  time  —  but  they 
«iade  a  botch  of  Nick  —  not  enough  tar ;  you  can  see 
where  the  sun  catches  him  there !  " 

Once  more,  though  my  whole  being  revolted  at  the  sight, 
I  must  needs  turn  to  look  at  the  thing  —  the  tall,  black 
shaft  of  the  gibbet,  and  the  grisly  horror  that  dangled 
beneath  with  its  chains  and  iron  bands ;  and  from  this, 
back  again  to  my  companion,  to  find  him  regarding  me 
with  a  curiously  twisted  smile,  and  a  long-barrelled  pistol 
held  within  a  foot  of  my  head. 

"Well.?"  said  I,  staring. 

"  Sir,"   said  he,   tapping  his  boot   with  his   stick,  "  I 


2  8  The  Broad  Highway 

must  trouble  you  for  the  shiner  I  see  a-winking  at  me  from 
your  cravat,  likewise  your  watch  and  any  small  change 
you  may  have." 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated,  glancing  from  his  grinning 
mouth  swiftly  over  the  deserted  road,  and  back  again. 

"  Likewise,"  said  the  fellow,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  be  sharp 
about  it."  It  was  with  singularly  clumsy  fingers  that  I 
drew  the  watch  from  my  fob  and  the  pin  from  my  cravat, 
and  passed  them  to  him. 

"  Now  your  pockets,"  he  suggested,  "  turn  'em  out." 

This  command  I  reluctantly  obeyed,  bringing  to  light 
my  ten  guineas,  which  were  as  yet  intact,  and  which  he 
pocketed  forthwith,  and  two  pennies  —  which  he  bade  me 
keep. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  't  will  buy  you  a  draught  of  ale,  sir, 
and  there  's  good  stuff  to  be  had  at  '  The  White  Hart ' 
yonder,  and  there  's  nothin'  like  a  draught  of  good  ale  to 
comfort  a  man  in  any  such  small  adversity  like  this  here. 
As  to  that  knapsack  now,"  he  pursued,  eyeing  it  thought- 
fully, "  it  looks  heavy  and  might  hold  valleybels,  but  then, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  might  not,  and  those  there  straps 

takes  time  to  unbuckle  and "    He  broke  off  suddenly, 

for  from  somewhere  on  the  hill  below  us  came  the  unmis- 
takable sound  of  wheels.  Hereupon  the  fellow  very  nimbly 
ran  across  the  road,  turned,  nodded,  and  vanished  among 
the  trees  and  underbrush  that  clothed  the  steep  slope  down 
to  the  valley  below. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE    BAGMAN 

I  WAS  yet  standing  there,  half  stunned  by  my  loss  and  the 
suddenness  of  it  all,  when  a  tilbury  came  slowly  round  a 
bend  in  the  road,  the  driver  of  which  nodded  lazily  in  his 
seat  while  his  horse,  a  sorry,  jaded  animal,  plodded  wearily 
up  the  steep  slope  of  the  hill.  As  he  approached  I  hailed 
him  loudly,  upon  which  he  suddenly  dived  down  between 
his  knees  and  produced  a  brass-bound  blunderbuss. 

"  What 's  to  do  ?  "  cried  he,  a  thick-set,  round-faced 
fellow,  "  what 's  to  do,  eh .''  "  and  he  covered  me  with  the 
wide  mouth  of  the  blunderbuss. 

"  Thieves ! "  said  I,  "  I  've  been  robbed,  and  not  three 
minutes  since." 

"  Ah ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  great  relief,  and  with 
the  color  returning  to  his  plump  cheeks,  "  is  that  the  way 
of  it?" 

"  It  is,"  said  I,  "  and  a  very  bad  way ;  the  fellow  has 
left  me  but  twopence  in  the  world." 

"Twopence  — ah.?" 

"  Come,"  I  went  on,  "  you  are  armed,  I  see ;  the  thief 
took  to  the  brushwood,  here,  not  three  minutes  ago ;  we 
may  catch  him  yet " 

"  Catch  him.?  "  repeated  the  fellow,  staring. 

"  Yes,  don't  I  tell  you  he  has  stolen  all  the  money  I 
possess?  " 

"  Except  twopence,"  said  the  fellow. 

"Yes " 

"  WeD,  twopence  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at,  and  if  I  was 
you " 


30  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Come,  we  're  losing  time,"  said  I,  cutting  him  short. 

"  But  —  my  mare,  what  about  my  mare?  " 

"  She  '11   stand,"    I   answered ;   "  she  's    tired   enough." 

The  Bagman,  for  such  I  took  him  to  be,  sighed,  and, 
blunderbuss  in  hand,  prepared  to  alight,  but,  in  the  act  of 
doing  so,  paused: 

"  Was  the  rascal  armed  ? "  he  inquired,  over  his  shoulder. 

*'  To  be  sure  he  was,"  said  I. 

The  Bagman  got  back  into  his  seat  and  took  up  the 
reins. 

"  What  now?  "  I  inquired. 

"  It 's  this  accursed  mare  of  mine,"  he  answered ;  "  she  '11 
bolt  again,  d'  ye  see  —  twice  yesterday  and  once  the  day 
before,  she  bolted,  sir,  and  on  a  road  like  this " 

"  Then  lend  me  your  blunderbuss." 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

"  But  why  not  ?  "  said  I  impatiently. 

"  Because  this  is  a  dangerous  road,  and  I  don't  intend 
to  be  left  unarmed  on  a  dangerous  road;  I  never  have 
been  and  I  never  will,  and  there  's  an  end  of  it,  d'  ye  see !  " 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  refuse  your  aid 
to  a  fellow-traveler  —  that  you  will  sit  there  and  let  the 
rogue  get  away  with  all  the  money  I  possess  in  the 
world " 

"Oh,  no;  not  on  no  account;  just  you  get  up  here 
beside  me  and  we  '11  drive  to  '  The  White  Hart.*  I  'm 
well  known  at  '  The  White  Hart ; '  we  '11  get  a  few  honest 
fellows  at  our  heels  and  have  this  thieving,  rascally  villain 

in  the  twinkling  of  an "    He  stopped  suddenly,  made 

a  frantic  clutch  at  his  blunderbuss,  and  sat  staring.  Turn- 
ing short  round,  I  saw  the  man  in  the  beaver  hat  standing 
within  a  yard  of  us,  fingering  his  long  pistol  and  with  the 
same  twisted  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  've  a  mind,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head  at  the  Bag- 
man, "  I  've  a  great  mind  to  blow  your  face  off." 

The  blunderbuss  fell  to  the  roadway,  with  a  clatter. 

"  Thievin',  rascally  villain  —  was  it  ?  Damme !  I  think 
I  will  blow  your  face  off." 


The  Bagman  3 1 

"  No  —  don't  do  —  that,"  said  the  Bagman,  in  a 
strange,  j  erky  voice,  "  what  'ud  be  —  the  good  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  there  poor  animal  would  n't  have  to  drag 
that  fat  carkiss  of  yours  up  and  down  hills,  for  one  thing." 

"  I  '11  get  out  and  walk." 

"  And  it  might  learn  ye  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your 
head." 

"I  —  I  did  n't  mean  —  any  —  offence." 

"  Then  chuck  us  your  purse,"  growled  the  other,  *'  and 
be  quick  about  it."  The  Bagman  obeyed  with  wonderful 
celerity,  and  I  heard  the  purse  chink  as  the  footpad 
dropped  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  greatcoat. 

"  As  for  you,"  said  he,  turning  to  me,  "  you  get  on  your 
way  and  never  mind  me ;  forget  you  ever  had  ten  guineas 
and  don't  go  a-riskin'  your  vallyble  young  life ;  come  — 
up  with  you !  "  and  he  motioned  me  into  the  tilbury  with 
his  pistol. 

"What  about  my  blunderbuss.?  "  expostulated  the  Bag- 
man, faintly,  as  I  seated  myself  beside  him,  "  you  '11  give 
me  my  blunderbuss  —  cost  me  five  pound  it  did." 

"  More  fool  you !  "  said  the  highwayman,  and,  picking 
up  the  unwieldy  weapon,  he  hove  it  into  the  ditch. 

"  As  to  our  argyment  —  regardin'  gibbetin',  sir,"  said 
he,  nodding  to  me,  "  I  'm  rayther  inclined  to  think  you 
was  in  the  right  on  it  arter  all."  Then,  turning  towards 
the  Bagman :  "  Drive  on,  fat-face !  "  said  he,  "  and  sharp  's 
the  word."  Whereupon  the  Bagman  whipped  up  his  horse 
and,  as  the  tired  animal  struggled  forward  over  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  I  saw  the  highwayman  still  watching  us. 

Very  soon  we  came  in  view  of  "  The  White  Hart,"  an 
inn  I  remembered  to  have  passed  on  the  right  hand  side 
of  the  road,  and  scarce  were  we  driven  up  to  the  door 
than  down  jumped  the  Bagman,  leaving  me  to  follow  at 
my  leisure,  and  running  into  the  tap,  forthwith  began  re- 
counting his  loss  to  all  and  sundry,  so  that  I  soon  found 
we  were  become  the  center  of  a  gaping  crowd,  much  to 
my  disgust.     Indeed,  I  would  have  slipped  away,  but  each 


3  2  The  Broad  Highway 

time  I  attempted  to  do  so  the  Bagman  would  appeal  to 
me  to  corroborate  some  statement. 

"  Galloping  Dick  himself,  or  I  'm  a  Dutchman !  "  he 
cried  for  the  twentieth  time ;  "  up  he  comes,  bold  as  brass, 
bless  you,  and  a  horse-pistol  in  each  hand.  '  Hold  hard ! ' 
says  I,  and  ups  with  my  blunderbuss ;  you  remember  as 
I  ups  with  my  blunderbuss.''  "  he  inquired,  turning  to  me. 

"  Quite  well,"  said  I. 

"  Ah,  but  you  should  have  seen  the  fellow's  face,  when 
he  saw  my  blunderbuss  ready  at  my  shoulder ;  green  it 
was  —  green  as  grass,  for  if  ever  there  was  death  in  a 
man's  face,  and  sudden  death  at  that,  there  was  sudden 
death  in  mine,  when,  all  at  once,  my  mare,  my  accursed 
mare,  jibbed  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes.'*  "  cried  half-a-dozen  breathless  voices,  "  what 
then.?  " 

"  Why,  then,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Bagman,  shaking  his 
head  and  frowning  round  upon  the  ring  of  intent  faces, 
"  why  then,  gentlemen,  being  a  resolute,  determined  fel- 
low, I  did  what  any  other  man  of  spirit  would  have  done 
_I » 

"  Dropped  your  blunderbuss,"  said  I. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure  I  did " 

"  And  he  pitched  it  into  the  ditch,"  said  I. 

"  Ay,"  nodded  the  Bagman  dubiously,  while  the  others 
crowded  nearer. 

"  And  then  he  took  your  money,  and  called  you  '  Fool ' 
and  *  Fat-face,'  and  so  it  ended,"  said  I.  With  which  I 
pushed  my  way  from  the  circle,  and,  finding  a  quiet  comer 
beside  the  chimney,  sat  down,  and  with  my  last  twopence 
paid  for  a  tankard  of  ale. 


CHAPTER    VI 

WHAT    BEFELL    ME    AT    "  THE    WHITE    HART  " 

When  a  man  has  experienced  some  great  and  totally  un- 
expected reverse  of  fortune,  has  been  swept  from  one  plane 
of  existence  to  another,  that  he  should  fail  at  once  to 
recognize  the  full  magnitude  of  that  change  is  but  natu- 
ral, for  his  faculties  must  of  necessity  be  numbed  more 
or  less  by  its  very  suddenness. 

Yesterday  I  had  been  reduced  from  affluence  to  poverty 
with  an  unexpectedness  that  had  dazed  me  for  the  time 
being,  and,  from  the  poverty  of  an  hour  ago,  I  now  found 
myself  reduced  to  an  utter  destitution,  without  the  where- 
withal to  pay  for  the  meanest  night's  lodging.  And,  con- 
trasting the  careless  ease  of  a  few  days  since  with  my 
present  lamentable  situation,  I  fell  into  a  gloomy  medita- 
tion; and  the  longer  I  thought  it  over,  the  more  dejected 
I  became.  To  be  sure,  I  might  apply  to  Sir  Richard  for 
assistance,  but  my  pride  revolted  at  even  the  thought, 
more  especially  at  such  an  early  stage ;  moreover,  I  had 
determined,  beforehand,  to  walk  my  appointed  road  un- 
aided from  the  first. 

From  these  depressing  thoughts  I  was  presently  aroused 
by  a  loud,  rough  voice  at  no  great  distance,  to  which, 
though  I  had  been  dimly  conscious  of  it  for  some  time, 
I  had  before  paid  no  attention.  Now,  however,  I  raised 
my  eyes  from  the  spot  upon  thfi  floor  where  they  had 
rested  hitherto,  and  fixed  them  upon  the  speaker. 

He  was  a  square-shouldered,  bullet-headed  fellow,  evi- 
dently held  in  much  respect  by  his  companions,  for  he 
occupied  the  head  of  the  table,  and  I  noticed  that  when- 


34  The  Broad  Highway 

ever  he  spoke  the  others  held  their  peace,  and  hung  upon 
the  words  with  an  appearance  of  much  respect. 

"  '  Yes,  sirs,'  says  I,"  he  began,  louder  than  before,  and 
with  a  flourish  of  his  long-stemmed  pipe,  " '  yes,  sirs,  Tom 
Cragg  's  my  name  an'  craggy  's  my  natur,'  says  I.  '  I  be 
'ard,  sirs,  dey-vilish  'ard  an'  uncommon  rocky !  'Ere  's 
a  face  as  likes  good  knocks,'  I  says,  *  w'y,  when  I  fought 
Crib  Burke  o'  Bristol  'e  broke  'is  'and  again'  my  jaw,  so 
'e  did,  an'  I  scarce  knowed  'e  'd  'it  me  till  I  see  'im  'oppin' 
wi'  the  pain  of  it.  Come,  sirs,'  says  I,  '  who  '11  give  me  a 
black  eye ;  a  fiver  's  all  I  ask.'  Well,  up  comes  a  young 
buck,  ready  an'  willin'.  *  Tom,'  says  'e,  '  I  '11  take  two 
flaps  at  that  figger-head  o'  youm  for  seven  guineas,  come, 
what  d'ye  say.'''  I  says,  'done,'  says  I.  So  my  fine 
gentleman  lays  by  'is  'at  an'  cane,  strips  oflF  'is  right-'and 
glove,  an'  'eavin'  back  lets  fly  at  me.  Bang  comes  'is  fist 
again'  my  jaw,  an'  there  's  my  gentleman  a-dabbin'  at  'is 
broken  knuckles  wi'  'is  'ankercher.  '  Come,  my  lord,'  says 
I,  '  fair  is  fair,  take  your  other  whack.'  '  Damnation ! ' 
says  'e,  '  take  your  money  an'  go  to  the  devil ! '  says  'e,  '  I 
thought  you  was  flesh  an'  blood  an'  not  cast  iron ! ' 
'  Craggy,  my  lord,'  says  I,  gathering  up  the  rhino,  '  Cragg 
by  name  an'  craggy  by  natur',  my  lord,'  says  I." 

Hereupon  ensued  a  roar  of  laughter,  with  much  slap- 
ping of  thighs,  and  stamping  of  feet,  while  the  bullet- 
headed  man  solemnly  emptied  his  tankard,  which  was  the 
signal  for  two  or  three  of  those  nearest  to  vie  for  its  pos- 
session, during  which  Tom  Cragg  sucked  dreamily  at  his 
pipe  and  stared  placidly  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Now,  Tom,"  said  a  tall,  bony  individual,  chiefly  re- 
markable in  possessing  but  one  eye,  and  that  so  extremelj' 
pale  and  watery  as  to  give  one  the  idea  that  it  was  very 
much  overworked,  "  now,  Tom,"  said  he,  setting  down 
the  refilled  tankard  at  the  great  man's  elbow  with  a  tri- 
umphant flourish,  "  tell  us  'ow  you  shook  'ands  wi'  the 
Prince  Regent." 

"  Ah !   tell  us,"  chimed  the  rest. 

"  Well,"  said  the  bullet-headed  man,  stooping  to  blow 


What  Befell  at  "The  White  Hart"    35 

the  froth  from  his  ale,  "  it  was  arter  I  beat  Jack  Nolan 
of  Brummagem.  The  Prince  'e  come  a-runnin'  to  me  'e 
did,  as  I  sat  in  my  comer  a-workin'  at  a  loose  tusk. 
'  Tom,'  'e  says,  *  Tom,  you  be  a  wonder.'  '  I  done  Jack 
Nolan  up  proper  I  think,  your  'I^ghness,'  says  I.  '  Tom,' 
says  'e,  wi'  tears  in  'is  eyes,  '  you  'ave ;  an'  if  I  'ad  my 
way,'  says  'e,  '  I  'd  make  you  Prime  Minister  to-morrer ! ' 
'e  says.  An'  slapped  me  on  the  back  'e  did,  wi'  'is  merry 
own  'and,  an'  hkewise  gave  me  this  'ere  pin,"  saying  which, 
he  pointed  to  a  flaming  diamond  horseshoe  which  he  wore 
stuck  through  his  neckerchief.  The  stones  were  extremely 
large  and  handsome,  looking  very  much  out  of  place  on 
the  fellow's  rough  person,  and  seemed  in  some  part  to 
bear  out  his  story.  Though,  indeed,  as  regarded  his  as- 
sociation with  the  Prince  Regent,  whose  tastes  were  at 
all  times  peculiar  (to  say  the  least),  and  whose  love  for 
"  the  fancy  "  was  notorious,  I  thought  it,  on  the  whole, 
very  probable;  for  despite  Craggy's  words,  foolishly 
blatant  though  they  sounded,  there  was  about  him  in  his 
low,  retreating  brow,  his  small,  deep-set  eyes,  his  great 
square  jowl  and  heavy  chin,  a  certain  air  there  was  no 
mistaking.  I  also  noticed  that  the  upper  half  of  one  ear 
was  unduly  thick  and  swollen,  which  is  a  mark  (I  believe) 
of  the  professional  pugilist  alone. 

"  Tom,"  cried  the  one-eyed  man,  "  wot 's  all  this  we 
heerd  of  Ted  Jarraway  of  Swansea  bein'  knocked  out  in 
five  rounds  by  this  'ere  Lord  Vibbot,  up  in  London .''  " 

"  Vibbot?  "  repeated  Cragg,  frowning  into  his  tankard, 
"  I  'ave  n't  'card  of  no  Vibbot,  neither  lord,  earl,  nor 
dook." 

"  Come,  Tom,"  coaxed  the  other,  "  everybody  's  heerd 
o'  Buck  Vibbot,  'im  they  calls  the  *  Fightin'  Barronite.'  " 

"  If,"  said  Cragg,  rolling  his  bullet-head,  "  if  you  was 
to  ask  me  who  put  Ted  Jarraway  to  sleep,  I  should  answer 
you.  Sir  Maurice  Vibart,  commonly  called  '  Buck  '  Vibart ; 
an'  it  took  ten  rounds  to  do  it,  not  five." 

As  may  be  expected,  at  this  mention  of  my  cousin's 
name  I  pricked  up  my  ears. 


36  The  Broad  Highway 

"  And  what 's  all  this  'bout  him  '  putting  out '  Tom 
Cragg,  in  three?  "  At  this  there  was  a  sudden  silence 
and  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  speaker,  a  small,  red- 
headed fellow,  with  a  truculent  eye.  "  Come,"  said  he, 
blowing  out  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  "  in  three  rounds ! 
What  d'  ye  say  to  that  now,  come?  " 

Cragg  had  started  up  in  his  chair  and  now  sat  scowling 
at  his  inquisitor  open-mouthed ;  and  in  the  hush  I  could 
hear  the  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  corner,  and  the  crackle 
of  the  logs  upon  the  hearth.  Then,  all  at  once,  Cragg's 
pipe  shivered  to  fragments  on  the  floor  and  he  leapt  to 
his  feet.  In  one  stride,  as  it  seemed,  he  reached  the  speaker, 
who  occupied  the  corner  opposite  mine,  but,  even  as  he 
raised  his  fist,  he  checked  himself  before  the  pocket-pistol 
which  the  other  held  levelled  across  the  table. 

"  Come,  come  —  none  o'  that,"  said  the  red-headed  man, 
his  eye  more  truculent  than  ever,  "  I  ain't  a  fightin'  cove 
myself,  and  I  don't  want  no  trouble  —  all  I  asks  is,  what 
about  Buck  Vibart  putting  out  Tom  Cragg  —  in  three 
rounds?  That 's  a  civil  question,  ain't  it  —  what  d'  ye  say 
now  —  come?" 

"  I  says,"  cried  Tom  Cragg,  flourishing  a  great  fist  in 
the  air,  "  I  says  as  'e  done  it  —  on  a  foul ! "  And  he 
smote  the  table  a  blow  that  set  the  glasses  ringing. 

"  Done  it  on  a  foul?  "  cried  three  or  four  voices. 

"  On  a  foul !  "  repeated  Cragg. 

"  Think  again,"  said  the  red-headed  man,  "  't  were  said 
as  it  was  a  werry  clean  knock-out." 

"  An'  I  say  it  were  done  on  a  foul,"  reiterated  Cragg, 
with  another  blow  of  his  fist,  "  an'  wot 's  more,  if  Buck 
Vibart  stood  afore  me  —  ah,  in  this  *ere  very  room,  I  'd 
prove  my  words." 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  red-headed  man,  "  they  do  say  as 
he  's  wonderful  quick  wi'  his  '  mauleys,'  an'  can  hit  —  like 
a  sledge-hammer." 

"  Quick  wi'  'is  'ands  'e  may  be,  an'  able  to  give  a  good- 
ish  thump,  but  as  for  beatin'  me  —  it 's  *  all  me  eye  an' 
Betty  Martin,'  an'  you  can  lay  to  that,  my  lads.     I  could 


What  Befell  at  "The  White  Hart"    37 

put  'im  to  sleep  any  time  an'  anywhere,  an'  I  'd  like  — 
ah !  I  'd  like  to  see  the  chap  as  says  contrairy ! "  And 
here  the  pugilist  scowled  round  upon  his  hearers  (more 
especially  the  red-headed  man)  so  blackly  that  one  or  two 
of  them  shuffled  uneasily,  and  the  latter  individual  ap- 
peared to  become  interested  in  the  lock  of  his  pistol. 

"  I  'd  hke,"  repeated  Cragg,  "  ah !  I  'd  like  to  see  the 
cove  as  says  contrairy." 

"  No  one  ain't  a-goin'  to,  Tom,"  said  the  one-eyed  man 
soothingly,  "  not  a  soul.  Lord  bless  you ! " 

"  I  only  wish  they  would,"  growled  Cragg. 

"Ain't  there  nobody  to  obleege  the  gentleman?"  in- 
quired the  red-headed  man. 

"  I  'd  fight  any  man  as  ever  was  bom  —  wish  I  may 
die  !  "  snorted  Cragg. 

"  You  always  was  so  fiery,  Tom !  "  purred  the  one-eyed 
man,  blinking  his  pale  orb. 

"  I  were,"  cried  the  prizefighter,  working  himself  into 
another  rage,  "  ah !  an'  I  'm  proud  of  it.  I  'd  fight  any 
man  as  ever  wore  breeches  —  why,  bum  me !  I  'd  give 
any  man  ten  shillin'  as  could  stand  up  to  me  for  ten 
minutes." 

"  Ten  shillings !  "  said  I  to  myself,  "  ten  shillings,  when 
one  comes  to  think  of  it,  is  a  very  handsome  sum  —  more 
especially  when  one  is  penniless  and  destitute ! " 

"  Wish  I  may  die !  "  roared  Cragg,  smiting  his  fist  down 
on  the  table  again,  "  a  guinea  —  a  golden  guinea  to  the 
man  as  could  stand  on  'is  pins  an'  fight  me  for  five  minutes 
—  an'  as  for  Buck  Vibart  —  curse  'im,  I  say  as  'e  won  on 
a  foul!" 

"  A  guinea,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  is  a  fortune ! "  And, 
setting  down  my  empty  tankard,  I  crossed  the  room  and 
touched  Cragg  upon  the  shoulder. 

"  I  will  fight  you,"  said  I,  "  for  a  guinea." 

Now,  as  the  fellow's  eyes  met  mine,  he  rose  up  out  of 
his  chair  and  his  mouth  opened  slowly,  but  he  spoke  no 
word,  backing  from  me  until  he  was  stayed  by  the  table, 
where  he  stood,  staring  at  me.     And  once  again  there  fell 


38  The  Broad  Highway 

a  silence,  in  which  I  heard  the  tick  of  the  clock  in  the 
corner  and  the  crackle  of  the  logs  upon  the  hearth. 

"  You  ? "  said  he,  recovering  himself  with  an  effort, 
"you?"  and,  as  he  spoke,  I  saw  his  left  eyelid  twitch 
suddenly. 

"  Exactly,"  I  answered,  "  I  think  I  can  stand  up  to 
even  you  —  for  five  minutes."  Now,  as  I  spoke,  he  winked 
at  me  again.  That  it  was  meant  for  me  was  certain,  see- 
ing that  his  back  was  towards  the  others,  though  what 
he  intended  to  convey  I  could  form  no  idea,  so  I  assumed 
as  confident  an  air  as  possible  and  waited.  Hereupon  the 
one-eyed  man  broke  into  a  sudden  raucous  laugh,  in  which 
the  others  joined. 

"  'Ark  to  'im,  lads,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  me  with  the 
stem  of  his  pipe,  "  'e  be  a  fine  un  to  stand  up  to  Tom 
Cragg  —  I  don't  think." 

"  Tell  'un  to  go  an'  lam  hisself  to  grow  whiskers  fust !  " 
cried  a  second. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,  'e  are  n't  got  so  much  as  our  old  cat !  " 
grinned  a  third. 

"  Stay ! "  cried  the  one-eyed  man,  peering  up  at  me 
beneath  his  hand.  "  Is  they  whiskers  a-peepin'  at  me  over 
'is  cravat  or  do  my  eyes  deceive  me.''  "  Which  pleasantry 
called  forth  another  roar  of  laughter  at  my  expense. 

Now,  very  foolishly  perhaps,  this  nonsense  greatly  ex- 
asperated me,  for  I  was,  at  that  time,  painfully  conscious 
of  my  bare  lips  and  chin.  It  was,  therefore,  with  an  effort 
that  I  mastered  my  quickly  rising  temper,  and  once  more 
addressed  myself  to  Cragg. 

"  I  am  willing,"  said  I,  "  to  accept  your  conditions  and 
fight  you  —  for  a  guinea  —  or  any  other  man  here  for 
that  matter,  except  the  humorous  gentleman  with  the 
watery  eye,  who  can  name  his  own  price."  The  fellow  in 
question  stared  at  me,  glanced  slowly  round,  and,  sitting 
down,  buried  his  face  in  his  tankard. 

"  Come,  Tom  Cragg,"  said  I,  "  a  while  ago  you  seemed 
very  anxious  for  a  man  to  fight ;  well  —  I  'm  your  man," 
and  with  the  words  I  stripped  off  my  coat  and  laid  it 
across  a  chair-back. 


What  Befell  at  "The  White  Hart"    39 

This  apparent  willingness  on  my  part  was  but  a  cloak  for 
my  real  feelings,  for  I  will  not  here  disguise  the  fact  that 
the  prospect  before  me  was  anything  but  agreeable;  in- 
deed my  heart  was  thumping  in  a  most  unpleasant  manner, 
and  my  tongue  and  lips  had  become  strangely  parched 
and  dry,  as  I  fronted  Cragg. 

Truly,  he  looked  dangerous  enough,  with  his  beetling 
brow,  his  great  depth  of  chest,  and  massive  shoulders ;  and 
the  possibility  of  a  black  eye  or  so,  and  general  pounding 
from  the  fellow's  knotted  fists,  was  daunting  in  the  ex- 
treme. Still,  the  chance  of  earning  a  guinea,  even  under 
such  conditions,  was  not  to  be  lightly  thrown  away ;  there- 
fore I  folded  my  arms  and  waited  with  as  much  resolution 
as  I  could. 

"  Sir,"  said  Cragg,  speaking  in  a  very  altered  tone, 
"  sir,  you  seem  oncommon  —  eager  for  it." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  it  over,"  said  I. 

"  If,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  if  I  said  anything  against  — 
you  know  who,  I  'm  sorry  for  it  —  me  'aving  the  great- 
est respec'  for  —  you  know  who  —  you  understand  me,  I 
think."  And  herewith  he  winked,  three  separate  and  dis- 
tinct times. 

"  No,  I  don't  understand  you  in  the  least,"  said  I,  "  nor 
do  I  think  it  at  all  necessary ;  all  that  I  care  about  is  the 
guinea  in  question." 

"  Come,  Tom,"  cried  one  of  the  company,  "  knock  'is 
'ead  off  to  begin  with." 

"  Ay,  set  about  'm,  Tom  —  cut  your  gab  an'  finish  'im," 
and  here  came  the  clatter  of  chairs  as  the  company  rose. 

"  Can't  be  done,"  said  Cragg,  shaking  his  head,  "  least- 
ways —  not  'ere." 

"  I  'm  not  particular,"  said  I,  "  if  you  prefer,  we  miglit 
manage  it  very  well  in  the  stable  with  a  couple  of 
lanthorns." 

"  The  barn  would  be  the  very  place,"  suggested  the 
landlord,  bustling  eagerly  forward  and  wiping  his  hands 
on  his  apron,  "  the  very  place  —  plenty  of  room  and  nice 
and   soft  to  fall  on.      If  you  would  only   put  off  your 


40  The  Broad  Highway 

fightin'  till  to-morrow,  we  might  cry  it  through  the  vil- 
lages ;  't  would  be  a  big  draw.  Ecod !  we  might  make 
a  purse  o'  twenty  pound  —  if  you  only  would !  Think  it 
over  —  think  it  over," 

"  To-morrow  I  hope  to  be  a  good  distance  from  here," 
said  I ;  "  come,  the  sooner  it  is  over  the  better,  show  us 
your  bam."  So  the  landlord  called  for  lanthoi'ns  and  led 
the  way  to  a  large  outbuilding  at  the  back  of  the  inn, 
into  which  we  all  trooped. 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  good  place  and  very  suitable,"  said  I. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,"  returned  the  landlord,  "  it 's 
many  a  fine  bout  as  has  been  brought  off  in  'ere;  the  time 
Jem  Belcher  beat  '  The  Young  Ruffian '  the  Prince  o' 
Wales  sat  in  a  cheer  over  in  that  theer  comer  —  ah,  that 
was  a  day,  if  you  please !  " 

"  If  Tom  Cragg  is  ready,"  said  I,  turning  up  the  wrist- 
bands of  my  shirt,  "  why,  so  am  I."  Here  it  was  found 
to  every  one's  surprise,  and  mine  in  particular,  that  Tom 
Cragg  was  not  in  the  bam.  Surprise  gave  place  to  noisy 
astonishment  when,  after  much  running  to  and  fro,  it  was 
further  learned  that  he  had  vanished  altogether.  The  inn 
itself,  the  stables,  and  even  the  haylofts  were  ransacked 
without  avail.  Tom  Cragg  was  gone  as  completely  as 
though  he  had  melted  into  thin  air,  and  with  him  all  my 
hopes  of  winning  the  guinea  and  a  comfortable  bed. 

It  was  with  all  my  old  dejection  upon  me,  therefore, 
that  I  returned  to  the  tap-room,  and,  refusing  the  offi- 
cious aid  of  the  One-Eyed  Man,  put  on  my  coat,  read- 
justed my  knapsack  and  crossed  to  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  I  paused,  and  looked  back. 

"  If,"  said  I,  glancing  round  the  ring  of  faces,  "  if  there 
is  any  man  here  who  is  at  all  willing  to  fight  for  a  guinea, 
ten  shillings,  or  even  five,  I  should  be  very  glad  of  the 
chance  to  earn  it."  But,  seeing  how  each,  wilfully  avoid- 
ing my  eye,  held  his  peace,  I  sighed,  and  turning  my  back 
upon  them,  set  off  along  the  darkening  road. 


CHAPTER    VII 

OF    THE    FURTHER    PUZZLING    BEHAVIOR    OF    TOM 
CRA6G,    THE    PUGILIST 

Evening  had  fallen,  and  I  walked  along  in  no  very  happy 
frame  of  mind,  the  more  so,  as  the  rising  wind  and  flying 
wrack  of  clouds  above  (through  which  a  watery  moon  had 
peeped  at  fitful  intervals)  seemed  to  presage  a  wild  night. 
It  needed  but  this  to  make  my  misery  the  more  complete, 
for,  as  far  as  I  could  tell,  if  I  slept  at  all  (and  I  was 
already  very  weary),  it  must,  of  necessity,  be  beneath  some 
hedge  or  tree. 

As  I  approached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  I  suddenly  re- 
membered that  I  must  once  more  pass  the  gibbet,  and 
began  to  strain  my  eyes  for  it.  Presently  I  spied  it,  sure 
enough,  its  grim,  gaunt  outline  looming  through  the 
murk,  and  instinctively  I  quickened  my  stride  so  as  to  pass 
it  as  soon  as  might  be. 

I  was  almost  abreast  of  it  when  a  figure  rose  from  be- 
neath it  and  slouched  into  the  road  to  meet  me.  I  stopped 
there  and  then,  and  grasping  ray  heavy  staff  waited  its 
approach. 

"  Be  that  you,  sir?  "  said  a  voice,  and  I  recognized  the 
voice  of  Tom  Cragg. 

"What  are  you  doing  —  and  there  of  all  places.''" 

"Oh  —  I  ain't  af eared  of  'im,"  answered  Cragg,  jerk- 
ing his  thumb  towards  the  gibbet,  "  I  ain't  afeard  o'  none 
as  ever  drawed  breath  —  dead  or  livin'  —  except  it  be  'is 
'Ighness  the  Prince  Regent." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 


42  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  'opes  as  theer  's  no  offence,  my  lord,"  said  he, 
knuckling  his  forehead,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  that  was 
a  strange  mixture  of  would-be  comradeship  and  cringing 
servility.  "  Cragg  is  my  name,  an'  craggy  's  my  natur', 
but  I  know  when  I  'm  beat.  I  knowed  ye  as  soon  as  I  laid 
my  '  peepers  '  on  ye,  an'  if  I  said  as  it  were  a  foul,  why, 
when  a  man  's  in  'is  cups,  d'  ye  see,  'e  's  apt  to  shoot 
rayther  wide  o'  the  gospel,  d'  ye  see,  an'  there  was  no 
offence,  my  lord,  strike  me  blind!  I  know  you,  an'  you 
know  me  —  Tom  Cragg  by  name  an'  craggy  by " 

"  But  I  don't  know  you,"  said  I,  "  and,  for  that  matter, 
neither  do  you  know  me." 

"  W'y,  you  ain't  got  no  whiskers,  my  lord  —  leastways, 
not  with  you  now,  but " 

"  And  what  the  devil  has  that  got  to  do  with  it.''  "  said 
I  angrily.     . 

"  Disguises,  p'raps !  "  said  the  fellow,  with  a  sly  leer, 
"  arter  that  theer  kidnappin'  —  an'  me  'avin'  laid  out  Sir 
Jarsper  Trent,  in  Wych  Street,  accordin'  to  your  orders, 
my  lord,  the  Prince  give  me  word  to  '  clear  out '  —  cut 
an'  run  for  it,  till  it  blow'd  over;  an'  I  thought,  p'raps, 
knowin'  as  you  an'  'im  'ad  'ad  words,  I  thought  as  you  'ad 
'  cut  stick  '  too " 

"  And  I  think  —  that  you  are  manifestly  drunk,"  said 
I,  "  if  you  still  wish  to  fight,  for  any  sum  —  no  matter 
how  small  —  put  up  your  hands ;  if  not,  get  out  of  my 
road."  The  craggy  one  stepped  aside,  somewhat  hastily, 
which  done,  he  removed  his  hat  and  stood  staring  and 
scratching  his  bullet-head  as  one  in  sore  perplexity. 

"  I  seen  a  many  rum  goes  in  my  time,"  said  he,  "  but  I 
never  see  so  rummy  a  go  as  this  'ere  —  strike  me  dead !  " 

So  I  left  him,  and  strode  on  down  the  hill.  As  I  went, 
the  moon  shot  out  a  feeble  ray,  through  some  rift  in  the 
rolling  clouds,  and,  looking  back,  I  saw  him  standing  where 
I  had  left  him  beneath  the  gibbet,  still  scratching  his  bullet- 
head,  and  staring  after  me  down  the  hill. 

Now,  though  the  whole  attitude  and  behavior  of  the 
fellow  was  puzzling  to  no  small  degree,  toy  mind  was  too 


Tom  Cragg,  the  Pugilist         43 

full  of  my  own  concerns  to  give  much  thought  to  him  — 
indeed,  scarce  was  he  out  of  my  sight  but  I  forgot  him 
altogether;  for,  what  with  my  weariness,  the  long,  dark 
road  before  and  behind  me,  and  my  empty  pockets,  I  be- 
came a  prey  to  great  dejection.  So  much  so  that  I  pres- 
ently sank  wearily  beside  the  way,  and,  resting  my  chin  in 
my  hands,  sat  there,  miserably  enough,  watching  the  night 
deepen  about  me. 

"  And  yet,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  if,  as  Epictetus  says  — 
'  to  despise  a  thing  is  to  possess  it,'  then  am  I  rich,  for  I 
have  always  despised  money ;  and  if,  weary  as  I  am,  I  can 
manage  to  condemn  the  luxury  of  a  feather  bed,  then  to- 
night, lying  in  this  grassy  ditch  beneath  the  stars,  I  shall 
slumber  as  sweetly  as  ever  I  did  between  the  snowy  sheets." 
Saying  which,  I  rose  and  began  to  look  about  for  some 
likely  nook  in  the  hedge,  where  I  might  pass  the  night. 
I  was  thus  engaged  when  I  heard  the  creak  of  wheels,  and 
the  pleasant  rhythmic  jingle  of  harness  on  the  dark  hill 
above,  and,  in  a  little  while,  a  great  wagon  or  wain,  piled 
high  with  hay,  hove  into  view,  the  driver  of  which  rolled 
loosely  in  his  seat  with  every  jolt  of  the  wheels,  so  that  it 
was  a  wonder  he  did  not  roll  off  altogether.  As  he  came 
level  with  me  I  hailed  him  loudly,  whereupon  he  started 
erect  and  brought  his  horses  to  a  stand : 

"  Hulloa !  "  he  bellowed,  in  the  loud,  strident  tone  of  one 
rudely  awakened,  "  w'at  do  'ee  want  wi'  I?  " 

"  A  lift,"  I  answered,  "  will  you  give  a  tired  fellow  a  lift 
on  his  way.'*  " 

"  W'y  —  I  dunno  —  be  you  a  talkin'  chap?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  I. 

"  Because,  if  you  be  a  talkin'  chap,  I  beant  a-goin'  to 
give  'ee  a  lift,  no'ow  —  not  if  I  knows  it ;  give  a  chap  a 
lift,  t'  other  day,  I  did  —  took  'im  up  t'  other  side  o'  Seven- 
oaks,  an'  'e  talked  me  up  'ill  an'  down  'ill,  'e  did  —  dang 
me !  if  I  could  get  a  wink  o'  sleep  all  the  way  to  Tonbridge ; 
so  if  you  'm  a  talkin'  chap,  you  don't  get  no  lift  wi'  I." 

"  I  am  generally  a  very  silent  chap,"  said  I ;  "  besides,  I 
am  too  tired  and  sleepy  to  talk,  even  if  I  wished " 


44  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Sleepj,"  yawned  the  man,  "  then  up  you  get,  my  chap 
—  I  'm  sleepy  too  —  I  alius  am,  Lord  love  ye !  theer  's 
nowt  like  sleep  —  up  wi'  you,  my  chap."  Forthwith,  up 
I  clambered,  and,  laying  myself  down  among  the  fragrant 
hay,  stretched  out  my  tired  limbs,  and  sighed.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  delicious  sense  of  restfulness  that  stole  over  me 
as  I  lay  there  upon  my  back,  listening  to  the  creak  of  the 
wheels,  the  deliberate  hoof-strokes  of  the  horses,  muffled  in 
the  thick  dust  of  the  road,  and  the  gentle  snore  of  the  driver 
who  had  promptly  fallen  asleep  again.  On  we  went  as  if 
borne  on  air,  so  soft  was  my  bed,  now  beneath  the  far-flung 
branches  of  trees,  sometimes  so  low  that  I  could  have 
touched  them  with  my  hand,  now,  beneath  a  sky  heavy  with 
sombre  masses  of  flying  cloud  or  bright  with  the  soft  radi- 
ance of  the  moon.  On  I  went,  careless  alike  of  destination, 
of  time,  and  of  future,  content  to  lie  there  upon  the  hay, 
and  rest.  And  so,  lulled  by  the  gentle  movement,  by  the 
sound  of  wheels  and  harness,  and  the  whisper  of  the  soft 
wind  about  me,  I  presently  fell  into  a  most  blessed  sleep. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

WHICH    CONCERNS    ITSELF    WITH    A    FARMER's 
WHISKERS    AND    A    WAISTCOAT 

How  long  I  slept  I  have  no  idea,  but  when  I  opened  my  eyes 
it  was  to  find  the  moon  shining  down  on  me  from  a  cloudless 
heaven ;  the  wind  also  had  died  away ;  it  seemed  my  early 
fears  of  a  wild  night  were  not  to  be  fulfilled,  and  for  this 
I  was  sufficiently  grateful.  Now  as  I  lay,  blinking  up  to 
the  moon,  I  presently  noticed  that  we  had  come  to  a  stand- 
still and  I  listened  expectantly  for  the  jingle  of  harness  and 
creak  of  the  wheels  to  recommence.  "  Strange !  "  said  I  to 
myself,  after  having  waited  vainly  some  little  time,  and  won- 
dering what  could  cause  the  delay,  I  sat  up  and  looked 
about  me.  The  first  object  my  eyes  encountered  was  a 
haystack  and,  beyond  that,  another,  with,  a  little  to  one 
side,  a  row  of  bams,  and  again  beyond  these,  a  great, 
rambling  farmhouse.  Evidently  the  wain  had  reached 
its  destination,  wherever  that  might  be,  and  the  sleepy 
wagoner,  forgetful  of  my  presence,  had  tumbled  off  to  bed. 
The  which  I  thought  so  excellent  an  example  that  I  lay 
down  again,  and,  drawing  the  loose  hay  over  me,  closed 
my  eyes,  and  once  more  fell  asleep. 

My  second  awakening  was  gradual.  I  at  first  became 
conscious  of  a  sound,  rising  and  falling  with  a  certain 
monotonous  regularity,  that  my  drowsy  ears  could  make 
nothing  of.  Little  by  little,  however,  the  sound  developed 
itself  into  a  somewhat  mournful  melody  or  refrain,  chanted 
by  a  not  unmusical  voice.  I  yawned  and,  having  stretched 
myself,  sat  up  to  look  and  listen.  And  the  words  of  the 
song  were  these: 


46  The  Broad  Highway 

"  When  a  man,  who  muffins  cries, 
Cries  not,  when  his  father  dies, 
'T  is  a  proof  that  he  would  rather 
Have  a  muffin  than  his  father." 

The  singer  was  a  tall,  strapping  fellow  with  a  good- 
tempered  face,  whose  ruddy  health  was  set  off  by  a 
handsome  pair  of  black  whiskers.  As  I  watched  him,  he 
laid  aside  the  pitchfork  he  had  been  using,  and  approached 
the  wagon,  but,  chancing  to  look  up,  his  eye  met  mine,  and 
he  stopped: 

"  Hulloa ! "  he  exclaimed,  breaking  short  off  in  the 
middle  of  a  note,  "  hulloa !  " 

"  Hallo !  "  said  I. 

"  Wat  be  doin'  up  theer?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  I  returned,  "  that,  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances, I,  for  one,  could  not  blame  the  individual, 
mentioned  in  your  song,  for  his  passionate  attachment  to 
muffins.  At  this  precise  moment  a  muffin,  —  or,  say,  five 
or  six,  would  be  highly  acceptable,  personally." 

"  Be  you  partial  to  muffins,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  I,  "  more  especially  seeing  I  have 
not  broken  my  fast  since  midday  yesterday." 

"  Well,  an'  w'at  be  doin'  in  my  hay  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  asleep,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  an'  what  business  'ave  ye  got  a-sleepin'  an' 
a-snorin'  in  my  hay.''  " 

"  I  was  tired,"  said  I,  "  and  '  Nature  her  custom  holds, 
let  shame  say  what  it  will,'  still  —  I  do  not  think  I  snored." 

"  'Ow  do  I  know  that  —  or  you,  for  that  matter?  "  re- 
joined the  farmer,  stroking  his  glossy  whiskers,  "  hows'- 
ever,  if  you  be  quite  awake,  come  on  down  out  o'  my  hay." 
As  he  said  this  he  eyed  me  with  rather  a  truculent  air,  like- 
wise he  clenched  his  fist.  Thinking  it  wisest  to  appear  un- 
conscious of  this,  I  nodded  affably,  and  letting  myself  down 
from  the  hay,  was  next  moment  standing  beside  him. 

"  Supposin'  I  was  to  thump  'ee  on  the  nose.'' "  he 
inquired. 

"What  for.?'" 


Farmer's  Whiskers  and  Waistcoat    47 

"  For  makin'  so  free  wi'  my  hay." 

"  Why  then,"  said  I,  "  I  should  earnestly  endeavor  to 
thump  you  on  yours." 

The  farmer  looked  me  slowly  over  from  head  to  foot, 
with  a  dawning  surprise. 

"  Thought  you  was  a  common  tramper,  I  did,"  said 
he. 

"  Why,  so  I  am,"  I  answered,  brushing  the  clinging  hay 
from  me. 

"  Trampers  o'  the  road  don't  wear  gentlemen's  clothes 

—  leastways,  I  never  see  one  as  did."  Here  his  eyes  wan- 
dered over  me  again,  from  my  boots  upward.  Half-way  up, 
they  stopped,  evidently  arrested  by  my  waistcoat,  a  flowered 
satin  of  the  very  latest  cut,  for  which  I  had  paid  forty 
shillings  in  the  Haymarket,  scarcely  a  week  before;  and, 
as  I  looked  down  at  it,  I  would  joyfully  have  given  it,  and 
every  waistcoat  that  was  ever  cut,  to  have  had  that  forty 
shillings  safe  back  in  my  pocket  again. 

"  That  be  a  mighty  fine  weskit,  sir !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  said  I. 

"  Ah,  that  I  do  —  w'at  might  be  the  cost  of  a  weskit 
the  like  o'  that,  now.''  " 

"  I  paid  forty  shillings  for  it,  in  the  Haymarket,  in 
London,  scarcely  a  week  ago,"  1  answered.  The  fellow 
very  slowly  closed  one  eye  at  the  same  time  striking  his 
nose  three  successive  raps  with  his  forefinger: 

"  Gammon !  "  said  he. 

"  None  the  less,  it 's  true,"  said  I. 

"  Any  man  as  would  give  forty  shillin'  for  a  garment 
as  is  no  mortal  good  agen  the  cold  —  not  reachin'  fur 
enough,  even  if  it  do  be  silk,  an'  all  worked  wi'  little  flowers 

—  is  a  dommed  fool !  " 

"  Assuredly !  "  said  I,  with  a  nod. 

"  Howsomever,"  he  continued,  "  it 's  a  handsome  weskit, 
there  's  no  denyin',  an'  well  worth  a  woman's  lookin'  at  — 
wi'  a  proper  man  inside  of  it." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  I. 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  scratching  his  ear,  and  staring  hard 


48  The  Broad  Highway 

at  the  handle  of  the  pitchfork,  "  a  chap  wi'  a  fine  pair  o' 
whiskers,  say." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  Now,  woman,"  he  went  on,  shifting  his  gaze  to  the 
top  button  of  his  left  gaiter,  "  woman  is  uncommon 
fond  o'  a  good  pair  o'  whiskers  —  leastways,  so  I  Ve 
heerd." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  few  women  can  look  upon  such 
things  unmoved,  I  believe,  and  nothing  can  set  off  a  pair 
of  fine,  black  whiskers  better  than  a  flowered  satin 
waistcoat." 

"  That 's  so !  "  nodded  the  farmer. 

"  But,  unfortunately,"  said  I,  passing  my  hand  over 
my  smooth  lips  and  chin,  "  I  have  no  whiskers." 

"  No,"  returned  the  farmer,  with  a  thoughtful  shake  of 
the  head,  "  leastways,  none  as  I  can  observe." 

"  Now,  you  have,"  said  I. 

"  So  they  do  tell  me,"  he  answered  modestly. 

"  And  the  natural  inference  is  that  you  ought  to  have 
a  flowered  waistcoat  to  go  with  them." 

"  Why,  that 's  true,  to  be  sure !  "  he  nodded. 

"  The  price  of  this  one  is  —  fifteen  shillings,"  said  I. 

"  That 's  a  lot  o'  money,  master,"  said  he,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  It  *s  a  great  deal  less  than  forty,"  said  I. 

"  An'  ten  is  less  than  fifteen,  an'  ten  shillin'  is  my  price ; 
what  d'  ye  say  —  come  now." 

"  You  drive  a  hard  bargain,"  said  I,  "  but  the  waist- 
coat is  yours  at  your  own  price."  So  saying,  I  slipped  off 
knapsack  and  coat,  and  removing  the  garment  in  question, 
having  first  felt  through  the  pockets,  handed  it  to  him, 
whereupon  he  slowly  counted  the  ten  shillings  into  my 
hand;  which  done,  he  sat  down  upon  the  shaft  of  a  cart 
near  by,  and,  spreading  out  the  waistcoat  on  his  knees, 
looked  it  over  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  Forty  shillin'  you  paid  for  'un,  up  to  Lunnon,"  said 
he,  "  forty  shillin'  it  were,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Forty  shillings !  "  said  I. 


Farmer's  Whiskers  and  Waistcoat    49 

"  Ecod,  it 's  a  sight  o'  money !  But  it  's  a  grand  weskit 
—  ah,  that  it  is  !  " 

"  So  you  believe  me  now,  do  you?  "  said  I,  pocketing  the 
ten  shillings. 

"  Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  I  won't  go  so  fur  as  that, 
but  't  is  a  mighty  fine  weskit  theer  's  no  denyin',  an'  must 
ha'  cost  a  sight  o'  money  —  a  powerful  sight !  "  I  picked 
up  my  knapsack  and,  slipping  it  on,  took  my  staff,  and 
turned  to  depart.  "  Theer  's  a  mug  o'  home-brewed,  an'  a 
slice  o'  fine  roast  beef  up  at  th'  'ouse,  if  you  should  be  so 
inclined " 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  I,  over  my  shoulder,  "  I  neither 
eat  nor  drink  with  a  man  who  doubts  my  word." 

"  Meanin'  those  forty  shillin'  ?  " 

"  Precisely !  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  twisting  his  whisker  with  a  thoughtful 
air,  "  if  you  could  manage  to  mak'  it  twenty  —  or  even 
twenty-five,  I  might  mak'  some  shift  to  believe  it  —  though 
't  would  be  a  strain,  but  forty !  —  no,  damme,  I  can't 
swaller  that !  " 

"  Then,  neither  can  I  swallow  your  beef  and  ale,"  said  I. 

"  Wheer  be  goin'.'' "  he  inquired,  rising,  and  following 
as  I  made  for  the  gate. 

"  To  the  end  of  the  road,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  be  goin'  pretty  fur  —  that  theer  road  leads 
to  the  sea." 

"  Why,  then  I  'm  going  to  the  sea,"  said  T. 

"What  to  do.?" 

"  I  have  n't  the  ghost  of  an  idea,"  I  returned. 

"  Can  you  work.''  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Can  ye  thatch  a  rick  .'*  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Shear  a  sheep?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"Guide  a  plough?" 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"Shoe  a  'oss?" 


50  The  Broad  Highway 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Then  ye  can't  work  —  Lord  love  me,  wheer  'ave  'e 
been?" 

"  At  a  university,"  said  I. 

"  Where,  master  ?  " 

"  At  a  place  warranted  to  turn  one  out  a  highly  edu- 
cated incompetent,"  I  explained. 

"  Why,  I  don't  hold  wi'  eddication  nor  book-larnin', 
myself,  master.  Here  I  be  wi'  a  good  farm,  an'  money 
in  the  bank,  an'  can't  write  my  own  name,"  said  the  farmer. 

"  And  here  am  I,  a  '  first  '  in  '  Litterag  Humaniores,' 
selling  my  waistcoat  that  I  may  eat,"  said  I.  Being  come 
to  the  gate  of  the  yard,  I  paused.  "  There  is  one  favor 
you  might  grant  me,"  said  I. 

"  As  what,  master.?  " 

"  Five  minutes  under  the  pump  yonder,  and  a  clean 
towel."  The  farmer  nodded,  and  crossing  to  one  of  the 
outhouses,  presently  returned  with  a  towel.  And,  resting 
the  towel  upon  the  pump-head,  he  seized  the  handle,  and 
sent  a  jet  of  clear,  cool  water  over  my  head,  and  face,  and 
hands. 

"  You  've  got  a  tidy,  sizeable  arm,"  said  he,  as  I  dried 
myself  vigorously,  '^  likewise  a  good  strong  back  an'  shoul- 
ders ;  thcer  's  the  makin's  of  a  man  in  you  as  might  do 
summat  —  say  in  the  plough  or  smithin'  way,  but  it 's  easy 
to  see  as  you  're  a  gentleman,  more  's  the  pity,  an'  won't. 
Hows'ever,  sir,  if  you  've  a  mind  to  a  cut  o'  good  beef,  an' 
a  mug  o'  fine  ale  —  say  the  word." 

"  First,"  said  I,  "  do  you  believe  it  was  forty  shillings  — 
yes  or  no  ?  " 

The  farmer  twisted  his  whisker,  and  stared  very  hard  at 
the  spout  of  the  pump. 

"  Tell  'ee  what,"  said  he  at  length,  "  mak'  it  thirty,  an' 
I  give  ye  my  Bible  oath  to  do  the  best  wi'  it  I  can." 

"  Then  I  must  needs  seek  my  breakfast  at  the  nearest 
inn,"  said  I. 

"  An'  that  is  the  '  Old  Cock,'  a  mile  an'  a  half  nearer 
Tonbridge." 


Farmer's  Whiskers  and  Waistcoat    5  i 

"  Then  the  sooner  I  start  the  better,"  said  I,  "  for  I  'm 
mightily  sharp  set." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  he,  busy  with  his  whisker  again, 
"  I  might  stretch  a  pint  or  two  an'  call  it  —  thirty-five, 
at  a  pinch  —  what  d'  ye  say  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  say  '  good  morning,'  and  many  of  them !  " 
And,  opening  the  gate,  I  started  off  down  the  road  at  a 
brisk  pace.    Now,  as  I  went,  it  began  to  rain. 


CHAPTER    IX 

IN    WHICH    I    STUMBLE    UPON    AN    AFFAIR    OF    HONOR 

There  are  times  (as  I  suppose)  when  the  most  sesthetic 
of  souls  will  forget  the  snow  of  lilies,  and  the  down  of  a 
butterfly's  wing,  to  revel  in  the  grosser  joys  of,  say,  a 
beefsteak.  One  cannot  riiapsodize  upon  the  beauties  of 
a  sunset,  or  contemplate  the  pale  witchery  of  the  moon 
with  any  real  degree  of  poetic  fervor,  or  any  degree  of 
comfort,  while  hunger  gnaws  at  one's  vitals,  for  comfort 
is  essential  to  your  aesthete,  and,  after  all,  soul  goes  hand 
in  hand  with  stomach. 

Thus,  I  swung  along  the  road  beneath  the  swaying  green 
of  trees,  past  the  fragrant,  blooming  hedges,  paying  small 
heed  to  the  beauties  of  wooded  hill  and  grassy  dale,  my 
eyes  constantly  searching  the  road  before  me  for  some  sign 
of  the  "  Old  Cock  "  tavern.  And  presently,  sure  enough, 
I  espied  it,  an  ugly,  flat-fronted  building,  before  which 
stood  a  dilapidated  horse  trough  and  a  battered  sign. 
Despite  its  uninviting  exterior,  I  hurried  forward,  and 
mounting  the  three  worn  steps  pushed  open  the  door.  I 
now  found  myself  in  a  room  of  somewhat  uninviting  aspect, 
though  upon  the  hearth  a  smouldering  fire  was  being  kicked 
into  a  blaze  by  a  sulky-faced  fellow,  to  whom  I  addressed 
myself. 

"  Can  I  have  some  breakfast  here.''  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  it 's  all  according,  master,"  he  answered,  in  a 
surly  tone. 

"  According  to  what.f*  "  said  I. 

"  According  to  what  you  want,  master." 

"  Why,  as  to  that "  I  began. 


I  Stumble  upon  an  AfFair  of  Honor    53 

"  Because,"  he  went  on,  administering  a  particularly 
vicious  kick  to  the  fire,  "  if  you  was  to  ask  me  for  a  French 
hortolon  —  or  even  the  'ump  of  a  cam-el  —  being  a  very 
truthful  man,  I  should  say  —  no." 

"  But  I  want  no  such  things,"  said  I. 

"  And  'ow  am  I  to  know  that  —  'ow  am  I  to  know  as 
you  ain't  set  your  'eart  on  the  'ump  of  a  cam-el?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  want  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  I,  "  a  chop 
would  do " 

"  Chop !  "  sighed  the  man,  scowling  threateningly  at  the 
fire,  "  chop !  " 

"  Or  steak,"  I  hastened  to  add- 

"  Now  it 's  a  steak !  "  said  the  man,  shaking  his  head 
ruefully,  and  turning  upon  me  a  doleful  eye,  "  a  steak !  " 
he  repeated ;  "  of  course  —  it  would  be ;  I  s'pose  you  'd 
turn  up  your  nose  at  'am  and  eggs  —  it 's  only  to  be 
expected." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "  ham  and  eggs  will  suit  me 
very  well ;  why  could  n't  you  have  mentioned  thera  before .''  " 

"  Why,  you  never  axed  me  as  I  remember,"  growled  the 
fellow. 

Slipping  my  knapsack  from  my  shoulders,  I  sat  down 
at  a  small  table  in  a  corner  while  the  man,  with  a  final 
kick  at  the  fire,  went  to  give  my  order.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  reappeared  with  some  billets  of  wood  beneath  his  arm, 
and  followed  by  a  merry-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  lass,  who  pro- 
ceeded, very  deftly,  to  lay  a  snowy  cloth  and  thereupon, 
in  due  season,  a  dish  of  savory  ham  and  golden-yolked 
eggs. 

"  It 's  a  lovely  morning !  "  said  I,  lifting  my  eyes  to 
her  comely  face. 

"  It  is  indeed,  sir,"  said  she,  setting  down  the  cruet  with 
a  turn  of  her  slender  wrist. 

"  Which  I  make  so  bold  as  to  deny,"  said  the  surly  man, 
dropping  the  wood  on  the  hearth  with  a  prodigious  clatter, 
"  'ow  can  any  morning  be  lovely  when  there  ain't  no  love 
in  it  —  no,  not  so  much  as  would  fill  a  thimble.''  I  say  it 
ain't  a  lovely  morning,  not  by  no  manner  o'  means,  and 


54  The  Broad  Highway 

what  I  says  I  ain't  ashamed  on,  being  a  nat'rally  truthful 
man !  "  With  which  words  he  sighed,  kicked  the  fire  again, 
and  stumped  out, 

"  Our  friend  would  seem  somewhat  gloomy  this  morn- 
ing," said  I. 

"  He  've  been  that  way  a  fortnight  now,  come  Satu'day," 
replied  the  slim  lass,  nodding. 

"  Oh?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  checking  a  smile,  and  sighing  in- 
stead ;  "  it 's  very  sad,  he  've  been  crossed  in  love  you  see, 
sir." 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  said  I,  "  can't  you  try  to  console 
him?" 

"  Me,  sir  —  oh  no !  " 

"And  why  not?  I  should  think  you  might  console  a 
man  for  a  great  deal." 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  she,  blushing  and  dimpling 
very  prettily,  "  it  do  so  happen  as  I  'm  the  one  as  crossed 
him." 

"  Ah !  —  I  understand,"  said  I. 

"  I  'm  to  be  married  to  a  farmer  —  down  the  road  yon- 
der; leastways,  I  have  n't  quite  made  up  my  mind  yet." 

"  A  fine,  tall  fellow?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes  —  do  'ee  know  him,  sir?  " 

"  With  a  handsome  pair  of  black  whiskers  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The  very  same,  sir,  and  they  do  be  handsome  whiskers, 
though  I  do  say  it." 

"  The  finest  I  ever  saw.  I  wish  you  every  happiness," 
said  I. 

"  Thankee  sir,  I  'm  sure,"  said  she,  and,  dimpling  more 
prettily  than  ever,  she  tripped  away,  and  left  me  to  my 
repast. 

And  when  I  had  assuaged  my  hunger,  I  took  out  the 
pipe  of  Adam,  the  groom,  the  pipe  shaped  like  a  negro's 
head,  and,  calling  for  a  paper  of  tobacco,  I  filled  and 
lighted  the  pipe,  and  sat  staring  dreamily  out  of  the 
window. 

Happy  is  that  man  who,  by  reason  of  an  abundant  for- 


I  Stumble  upon  an  Affair  of  Honor   55 

tune,  knows  not  the  meaning  of  the  word  hunger;  but 
thrice  happy  is  he  who,  when  the  hand  of  famine  pinches, 
may  stay  his  craving  with  such  a  meal  as  this  of  mine. 
Never  before,  and  never  since  have  I  tasted  just  such  eggs, 
and  such  ham  —  so  tender !  so  delicate !  so  full  of  flavor ! 
It  is  a  memory  that  can  never  fade.  Indeed,  sometimes 
(even  now),  when  I  grow  hungry,  (about  dinner-time)  I 
see  once  more  the  surly-faced  man,  the  rosy-cheeked  wait- 
ing-maid, and  the  gloomy  chamber  of  the  "  Old  Cock  " 
tavern  as  I  saw  them  upon  that  early  May  morning  of  the 
year  of  grace  18 — . 

So  I  sat,  with  a  contented  mind,  smoking  my  pipe,  and 
staring  out  at  the  falling  summer  rain.  And  presently, 
chancing  to  turn  my  eyes  up  the  road,  I  beheld  a  chaise  that 
galloped  in  a  smother  of  mud.  As  I  watched  its  rapid  ap- 
proach, the  postilion  swung  his  horses  towards  the  inn,  and 
a  moment  later  had  pulled  up  before  the  door.  They  had 
evidently  travelled  fast  and  far,  for  the  chaise  was  covered 
with  dirt,  and  the  poor  horses,  in  a  lather  of  foam,  hung 
their  heads,  while  their  flanks  heaved  distressfully. 

The  chaise  door  was  now  thrown  open,  and  three  gentle- 
men alighted.  The  first  was  a  short,  plethoric  individual, 
bull-necked  and  loud  of  voice,  for  I  could  hear  him  roundly 
cursing  the  post-boy  for  some  fault ;  the  second  was  a  tall, 
languid  gentleman,  who  carried  a  flat,  oblong  box  beneath 
one  arm,  and  who  paused  to  fondle  his  whisker,  and  look 
up  at  the  inn  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  disgust ;  while  the 
third  stood  mutely  by,  his  hands  thrust  into  the  pockets 
of  his  greatcoat,  and  stared  straight  before  him. 

The  three  of  them  entered  the  room  together,  and,  while 
the  languid  gentleman  paused  to  survey  himself  in  the 
small,  cracked  mirror  that  hung  against  the  wall,  the 
plethoric  individual  bustled  to  the  fire,  and,  loosening  his 
coats  and  neckerchief,  spread  out  his  hands  to  the 
blaze. 

"  A  good  half-hour  before  our  time,"  said  he,  glancing 
towards  the  third  gentleman,  who  stood  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  his  hands  still  deep  in  his  pockets ;  "  we  did 


56  The  Broad  Highway 

the  last  ten  miles  well  under  the  hour  —  come,  what  do 
you  say  to  a  glass  of  brandy?  " 

At  this,  his  languid  companion  turned  from  the  mirror, 
and  I  noticed  that  he,  too,  glanced  at  the  silent  figure  by 
the  window. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  he,  "  though  Sir  Jasper  would 
hardly  seem  in  a  drinking  humor,"  and,  with  the  very 
shghtest  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  turned  back  to  the 
mirror  again. 

"  No,  Mr.  Chester,  I  am  not  —  in  a  drinking  humor," 
answered  Sir  Jasper,  without  turning  round,  or  taking 
his  eyes  front  the  window. 

"  Sir  Jasper.'*  "  said  I  to  myself,  "  now  where,  and  in 
what  connection,  have  I  hoard  such  a  name  before  ?  " 

He  was  of  a  slight  build,  and  seemingly  younger  than 
either  of  his  companions  by  some  years,  but  what  struck 
me  particularly  about  him  was  the  extreme  pallor  of  his 
face.  I  noticed  also  a  peculiar  habit  he  had  of  moistening 
his  hps  at  frequent  intervals  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and 
there  was,  besides,  something  in  the  way  he  stared  at  the 
trees,  the  wet  road,  and  the  gray  sky  —  a  strange  wide- 
eyed  intensity  —  that  drew  and  held  my  attention. 

"  Devilish  weather  —  devilish,  on  my  life  and  soul !  '* 
exclaimed  the  short,  red-faced  man,  in  a  loud,  peevish 
tone,  tugging  viciously  at  the  bell-rope,  "  hot  one  day, 

cold   the  next,  now   sun,  now  rain Oh,   damn   it ! 

Now  in  France  —  ah,  what  a  climate  —  heavenly  —  posi- 
tively divine;  say  what  you  will  of  a  Frenchman,  damn 
him  by  all  means,  but  the  climate,  the  country,  and  the 
women  —  who  would  not  worship  'em.''" 

"  Exactly !  "  said  the  languid  gentleman,  examining  a 
pimple  upon  his  chin  with  a  high  degree  of  interest,  "  al- 
ways 'dored  a  Frenchwoman  myself ;  they  're  so  —  so  — 
ah  —  so  deuced  French,  though  mark  you,  Selby,"  he  broke 
off,  as  the  rosy-cheeked  maid  appeared  with  the  brandy  and 
glasses,  "  though  mark  you,  there  's  much  to  be  said  for 
your  English  country  wenches,  after  all,"  saying  which,  he 
slipped  his  arm  about  the  girl's  round  waist.    There  was  the 


I  Stumble  upon  an  Affair  of  Honor   57 

sound  of  a  kiss,  a  muffled  shriek,  and  she  had  run  from  the 
room,  slamming  the  door  behind  her,  whereupon  the  languid 
gentleman  went  back  to  his  pimple. 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,  Chester,  I  quarrel  only  with  the  climate. 
God  made  England,  and  the  devil  sends  the  weather !  " 

"  Selby,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  in  the  same  repressed  tone 
that  he  had  used  before  and  still  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  the  gray  prospect  of  sky  and  tree  and  winding  road, 
"  there  is  no  fairer  land,  in  all  the  world,  than  this  England 
of  ours ;  it  were  a  good  thing  to  die  —  for  England,  but 
that  is  a  happiness  reserved  for  comparatively  few."  And, 
with  the  words,  he  sighed,  a  strange,  fluttering  sigh,  and 
thrust  his  hands  deeper  into  his  pockets. 

"  Die !  "  repeated  the  man  Selby,  in  a  loud,  boisterous 
way.     "  Who  talks  of  death  .^  " 

"Deuced  unpleasant  subject!"  said  the  other,  with  a 
shrug  at  the  cracked  mirror.  "  Something  so  infernally 
cold  and  clammy  about  it  —  like  the  weather." 

"  And  yet  it  will  be  a  glorious  day  later.  The  clouds 
are  thinning  already,"  Sir  Jasper  went  on ;  "  strange,  but 
I  never  realized,  until  this  morning,  how  green  —  and  won- 
derful —  everything  is  !  " 

The  languid  Mr.  Chester  forgot  the  mirror,  and  turned 
to  stare  at  Sir  Jasper's  back,  with  raised  brows,  while  the 
man  Selby  shook  his  head,  and  smiled  unpleasantly.  As  he 
did  so,  his  eye  encountered  me,  where  I  sat,  quietly  in  my 
comer,  smoking  my  negro-head  pipe,  and  his  thick  brows 
twitched  sharply  together  in  a  frown. 

"  In  an  hour's  time,  gentlemen,"  pursued  Sir  Jasper, 
"  we  shall  write  *  finis  '  to  a  more  or  less  interesting  inci- 
dent, and  I  beg  of  you,  in  that  hour,  to  remember  my 
prophecy  —  that  it  would  be  a  glorious  day,  later." 

Mr.  Chester  filled  a  glass,  and  crossing  to  the  speaker, 
tendered  it  to  him  without  a  word ;  as  for  Selby,  he  stood 
stolidly  enough,  his  hands  thrust  truculently  beneath  his 
coat-tails,  frowning  at  me. 

"  Come,"  said  Mr.  Chester  persuasively,  "  just  a 
bracer !  "      Sir  Jasper   shook  his  head,  but   next  moment 


58  The  Broad  Highway 

reached  out  a  white,  unsteady  hand,  and  raised  the  brandy 
to  his  lips ;  yet  as  he  drank,  I  saw  the  spirit  slop  over,  and 
trickle  from  his  chin. 

"  Thanks,  Chester,"  said  he,  returning  the  empty  glass ; 
"  is  it  time  we  started  yet?  " 

"  It 's  just  half-past  seven,"  answered  Mr.  Chester,  con- 
sulting his  watch,  "  and  I  'm  rather  hazy  as  to  the  exact 
place." 

"  Deepdene  Wood,"  said  Sir  Jasper  dreamily. 

"  You  know  the  place .''  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  Then  we  may  as  well  start,  if  you  are  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  cool  and  fresh,  outside." 

"  Settle  the  bill,  Selby,  we  '11  walk  on  slowly,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  and,  with  a  last  glance  at  the  mirror,  he  slipped 
his  arm  within  Sir  Jasper's,  and  they  went  out  together. 

Mr.  Selby  meanwhile  rang  for  the  bill,  frowning  at  me 
all  the  time. 

*'  What  the  devil  are  you  staring  at.?  "  he  demanded 
suddenly,  in  a  loud,  bullying  tone. 

"  If  you  are  pleased  to  refer  to  me,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I 
would  say  that  my  eyes  were  given  for  use,  and  that  hav- 
ing used  them  upon  you,  I  have  long  since  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  I  don't  like  you." 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  he,  frowning  fiercer  than  ever. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  though  whether  it  is  your  person,  your 
manner,  or  your  voice  that  displeases  me  most,  I  am  unable 
to  say." 

"  An  impertinent  young  j  ackanapes !  "  said  he ;  "  dam- 
nation, I  think  I  'U  pull  your  nose !  " 

"  Why,  you  may  try,  and  welcome,  sir,"  said  I,  "  though 
I  should  advise  you  not,  for  should  you  make  the  attempt 
I  should  be  compelled  to  throw  you  out  of  the  window." 

At  this  moment  the  pretty  maid  appeared,  and  tendered 
him  the  bill  with  a  curtesy.  He  glanced  at  it,  tossed  some 
money  upon  the  table,  and  turned  to  stare  at  me  again. 

"  If  ever  I  meet  you  again "  he  began. 

"  You  'd  probably  know  me,"  I  put  in. 


I  Stumble  upon  an  AfFair  of  Honor   59 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  he  answered,  putting  on  his  hat 
and  buttoning  his  befrogged  surtout ;  "  and  should  you," 
he  continued,  drawing  on  his  gloves,  "  should  you  stare  at 
me  with  those  damned,  impertinent  fishes'  eyes  of  yours, 
I  should,  most  certainly,  pull  your  nose  for  you  —  on  the 
spot,  sir." 

"  And  I  should  as  certainly  throw  you  out  of  the  win- 
dow !  "  I  nodded. 

"An  impertinent  young  jackanapes!"  said  he  again, 
and  went  out,  banging  the  door  behind  him.  Glancing 
from  the  window,  I  saw  him  catch  up  with  the  other  two, 
and  all  three  walk  on  together  down  the  road.  Sir  Jasper 
was  in  the  middle,  and  I  noticed  that  his  hands  were  still 
deep  in  his  pockets.  Now,  as  I  watched  their  forms  getting 
smaller  and  smaller  in  the  distance,  there  grew  upon  rae  a 
feeling  that  he  who  walked  between  would  nevermore  come 
walking  back. 

And,  in  a  little,  having  knocked  out  my  negro-head  pipe 
upon  my  palm,  I  called  for  and  settled  my  score.  As  I 
rose,  the  pretty  chambermaid  picked  up  my  knapsack  from 
the  comer,  and  blushing,  aided  me  to  put  it  on. 

"  My  dear,  thank  you,"  said  I,  and  kissed  her.  This 
time  she  neither  shrieked  nor  ran  from  the  room;  she 
merely  blushed  a  trifle  rosier. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  fishes'  eyes,  my  dear.-*  " 

*'  La !  no,  sir  —  handsome  they  be,  I  'm  sure,  so  bright 
an'  black  an'  wi'  little  lights  a-dancing  in  them  —  there, 
sir,  do  ha'  done,  and  go  along  wi'  you !  " 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said,  pausing  upon  the  worn  steps, 
and  looking  back  at  her,  "  by  the  way,  how  far  is  it  to 
Deepdene  Wood?  " 


CHAPTER    X 

WHICH     RELATES    THE    END    OF     AN     HONORABLE    AFFAIR 

Some  half-mile  along  the  road,  upon  the  left  hand,  was  a 
stile,  and  beyond  the  stile,  a  path  —  a  path  that  led  away 
over  field,  and  meadow,  and  winding  stream,  to  the  blue 
verge  of  distant  woods. 

Now,  midway  between  these  woods  and  the  place  where 
I  stood,  there  moved  three  figures ;  and,  far  away  though 
they  were,  I  could  still  make  out  that  the  middle  one  walked 
with  his  hands  —  those  tremulous,  betraying  hands  — 
thrust  deep  within  his  pockets. 

And  presently  I  climbed  the  stile,  and  set  off  along  the 
path. 

"  Sir  Jasper !  "  said  I  to  myself.  Somewhere  in  the 
background  of  my  consciousness  I  had  a  vague  recollec- 
tion of  having  heard  mention  of  such  a  name  before,  but 
exactly  when  and  where  I  could  not,  for  the  life  of  me, 
remember. 

"  Sir  Jasper !  "  said  I  to  myself  again.  "  It  is  a  very 
uncommon  name,  and  should  be  easy  to  recollect."  I  had 
often  prided  myself  on  possessing  a  singularly  retentive 
memory,  more  especially  for  names  and  faces,  but,  upon 
the  present  occasion,  the  more  I  pondered  the  matter,  the 
more  hazy  I  became.  So  I  walked  on  through  the  sweet, 
wet  grass,  racking  my  brain  for  a  solution  of  the  problem, 
but  finding  none. 

When  I  again  looked  up,  the  three  figures  had  vanished 
where  the  path  took  a  sharp  bend  round  a  clump  of  pollard 
oaks,  and,  determined  not  to  lose  them,  I  hurried  my  steps ; 


The  End  of  an  Honorable  Affair    61 

but  when  I,  in  turn,  rounded  the  comer,  not  a  soul  was 
in  sight. 

The  path  sloped  up  gently  before  me,  with  a  thick  hedge 
upon  my  right,  and,  after  crossing  a  brawling  stream,  lost 
itself  in  the  small  wood  or  coppice,  that  crowned  the 
ascent.  Wondering,  I  hastened  forward,  and  then,  hap- 
pening to  look  through  the  hedge,  which  grew  very  thick 
and  high,  I  stopped  all  at  once. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  was  a  strip  of  meadow 
bounded  by  the  brook  I  have  mentioned ;  now  across  this 
stream  was  a  small  rustic  bridge,  and  on  this  bridge  was 
a  man.  Midway  between  this  man  and  myself  stood  a  group 
of  four  gentlemen,  all  talking  very  earnestly  together,  to 
judge  by  their  actions,  while  somewhat  apart  from  these, 
his  head  bent,  his  hands  still  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets, 
stood  Sir  Jasper.  And  from  him,  for  no  apparent  reason, 
my  eyes  wandered  to  the  man  upon  the  bridge  —  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered  fellow,  in  a  buff-colored  greatcoat,  who 
whistled  to  himself,  and  stared  down  into  the  stream, 
swinging  his  tasselled  riding-boot  to  and  fro.  All  at  once, 
as  if  in  response  to  some  signal,  he  rose,  and  unbuttoning 
his  surtout,  drew  it  off  and  flung  it  across  the  handrail  of 
the  bridge. 

Mr.  Chester  was  on  his  knees  Jbefore  the  oblong  box, 
and  I  saw  the  glint  of  the  pistols  as  he  handed  them  up. 
The  distance  had  already  been  paced  and  marked  out,  and 
now  each  man  took  his  ground  —  Sir  Jasper,  still  in  his 
greatcoat,  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  his  neckerchief  loose  and 
dangling,  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  the  other  grasping  his 
weapon  ;  his  antagonist,  on  the  contrary,  j  aunty  and  debon- 
nair,  a  dandy  from  the  crown  of  his  hat  to  the  soles  of 
his  shining  boots. 

Their  arms  were  raised  almost  together.  The  man  Selby 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  a  handkerchief  fluttered, 
fell,  and  in  that  instant  came  the  report  of  a  pistol.  I  saw 
Sir  Jasper  reel  backward,  steady  himself,  and  fire  in  return  ; 
then,  while  the  blue  smoke  yet  hung  in  the  still  air,  he 
staggered  blindly,  and  fell. 


62  The  Broad  Highway 

Mr.  Chester,  and  two  or  three  more,  ran  forward  and 
knelt  beside  him,  while  his  opponent  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and,  taking  oflF  his  hat,  pointed  out  the  bullet  hole  to  his 
white-faced  second. 

And  in  a  little  while  they  lifted  Sir  Jasper  in  their  arms, 
but  seeing  how  his  head  hung,  a  sudden  sickness  came  upon 
me,  for  I  knew,  indeed,  that  he  would  go  walking  back 
nevermore.  Yet  his  eyes  were  wide  and  staring  —  staring 
up  at  the  blue  heaven  with  the  same  fixed  intensity  as  they 
had  done  at  the  inn. 

Then  I,  too,  looked  up  at  the  cloudless  sky,  and  round 
upon  the  fair  earth ;  and,  in  that  moment,  I,  for  one,  re- 
membered his  prophecy  of  an  hour  ago.  And,  indeed,  the 
day  was  glorious. 


CHAPTER    XI 

WHICai    EELATES   A    BRIEF    PASSAGE-AT-ARMS   AT 
"  THE    CHEQUERS "    INN 

In  due  season  I  came  into  Tonbridge  town,  and  following 
the  High  Street,  presently  observed  a  fine  inn  upon  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  way,  which,  as  I  remember,  is  called 
"  The  Chequers."  And  here  were  divers  loiterers,  lounging 
round  the  door,  or  seated  upon  the  benches ;  but  the  eyes 
of  all  were  turned  the  one  way. 

And  presently,  as  I  paused  before  the  inn,  to  look  up  at 
its  snow-white  plaster,  and  massive  cross-beams,  there 
issued  from  the  stable  yard  one  in  a  striped  waistcoat,  with 
top-boots  and  a  red  face,  who  took  a  straw  from  behind  his 
ear,  and  began  to  chew  it  meditatively ;  to  whom  I  now 
addressed  myself. 

"  Good  afternoon !  "  said  I. 

"  Artemoon !  "  he  answered. 

"  A  fine  day !  "  said  I. 

"Is  it?"  said  he. 

"  Why  —  to  be  sure  it  is,"  said  I,  somewhat  taken  aback 
by  his  manner ;  "  to  be  sure  it  is." 

"  Oh ! "  said  he,  and  shifted  the  straw  very  dexterously 
from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  by  some  unseen 
agency,  and  stared  up  the  road  harder  than  ever. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?  "  I  inquired. 

"  '111,"  said  he. 

**  And  why  do  you  look  at  the  hill?  " 

«  Mail,"  said  he. 

"Oh!  "said  I. 


64  The  Broad  Highway 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

"  Is  it  the  London  coach?  " 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

"  Does  it  stop  here.''  " 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  ever  say  anything  much  beside  '  ah ' .''  "  I 
inquired. 

He  stopped  chewing  the  straw,  and  with  his  eyes  on  the 
distance,  seemed  to  turn  this  question  over  in  his  mind; 
having  done  which,  he  began  to  chew  again. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he. 

"  Why,  then  you  can,  perhaps,  tell  me  how  many  miles 
it  is " 

"  Five,"  said  he. 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  how  far  it  was  to " 

"  The  Wells  !  "  said  he. 

"  Why' —  yes,  to  be  sure,  but  how  did  you  know  that.''  " 

"It's  use!"  said  he. 

"  What  do  you  mean .''  " 

"  They  all  ask !  "  said  he. 

"Who  do.?" 

"  Tramps  !  "  said  he. 

"  Oh !   so  you  take  me  for  a  tramp  ?  " 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

"  And  you,"  said  I,  "put  me  in  mind  of  a  certain  Semi- 
quavering  Friar." 

"  Eh.?  "  said  he,  frowning  a  httle  at  the  hill. 

"  You  've  never  heard  of  Rabelais,  or  Panurge,  of 
course,"  said  I.  The  Ostler  took  out  his  straw,  eyed  it 
thoughtfully,  and  put  it  back  again. 

"  No,"  said  he. 

"  More  's  the  pity  !  "  said  I,  and  was  about  to  turn  away, 
when  he  drew  the  nearest  fist  abruptly  from  his  pocket,  and 
extended  it  towards  me. 

"  Look  at  that !  "  he  commanded. 

"  Rather  dirty,"  I  commented,  "  but  otherwise  a  good, 
useful  member,  I  make  no  doubt." 

"  It  *s    a-goin',"    said   he,    alternately    drawing    in    and 


At  <*  The  Chequers"  Inn         65 

shooting  out  the  fist  in  question,  "  it 's  a-goin'  to  fill  your 
eye  up." 

"  Is  it?  "  said  I. 

"Ah!"  said  he. 

"But  what  for?" 

**  I  are  n't  a  Semmy,  nor  yet  a  Quaver,  an'  as  for  Friers," 
said  he,  vei*y  deliberately,  "  why  —  Frier  yourself,  says  I." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I,  "  you  are  gifted  with  a  certain 
terse  directness  of  speech  that  greatly  reminds  me  of " 

"  Joe !"  he  called  out  suddenly  over  his  shoulder.  "Mail, 
Joe!" 

Lifting  my  eyes  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  I  could  see  noth- 
ing save  a  faint  haze,  which,  however,  gradually  grew 
denser  and  thicker;  and  out  from  this  gathering  cloud, 
soft,  and  faint  with  distance,  stole  the  silvery  notes  of  a 
horn.  Now  I  saw  the  coach  itself,  and,  as  I  watched  it 
rapidly  descending  the  hill,  I  longed  to  be  upon  it,  with 
the  sun  above,  the  smooth  road  below,  and  the  wind  rushing 
through  my  hair.  On  it  came  at  a  gallop,  rocking  and 
swaying,  a  good  fifteen  miles  an  hour;  on  it  came,  plung- 
ing into  the  green  shade  of  trees,  and  out  into  the  sun 
again,  with  ever  the  gathering  dust  cloud  behind ;  while 
clear  and  high  rang  the  cheery  note  of  the  horn.  And  now, 
from  the  cool  shadows  of  the  inn  yard,  there  rose  a  pro- 
digious stamping  of  hoofs,  rattling  of  chains,  and  swear- 
ing of  oaths,  and  out  came  four  fresh  horses,  led  by  two 
men,  each  of  whom  wore  top-boots,  a  striped  waistcoat, 
and  chewed  upon  straws. 

And  now  the  coach  swung  round  the  bend,  and  came 
thundering  down  upon  "  The  Chequers,"  chains  jingling, 
wheels  rumbling,  horn  braying  and,  with  a  stamp  and  ring 
of  hoof,  pulled  up  before  the  inn. 

And  then  what  a  running  to  and  fro !  what  a  prodigious 
unbuckling  and  buckling  of  straps,  while  the  jovial-faced 
coachman  fanned  himself  with  his  hat,  and  swore  jovially 
at  the  ostlers,  and  the  ostlers  swore  back  at  the  coachman, 
and  the  guard,  and  the  coach,  and  the  horses,  indi\adually 
and   collectively :  in  the  midst   of  which  confusion,  down 


66  The  Broad  Highway 

came*  the  window  with  a  bang,  and  out  of  the  window  came  ■ 
a  flask,  and  a  hand,  and  an  arm,  and,  last  of  all,  a  great, 
fat  face,  round,  and  mottled,  and  roaring  as  it  came : 

"  Oho  —  I  say  damn  it !  damn  everybody's  eyes  and 
bones  —  brandy !  O  yoho,  house  —  I  say  brandy !  Guard, 
landlord,  ostlers  —  brandy,  d'  ye  hear  ?  I  say,  what  the 
devil !    Am  I  to  die  for  want  of  a  drop  of  brandy  ?    Oho !  " 

Now,  little  by  little,  I  became  conscious  (how,  I  cannot 
define)  that  I  was  the  object  of  a  close  and  persistent 
scrutiny  —  that  I  was  being  watched  and  stared  at  by 
some  one  near  by.  Shifting  my  eyes,  therefore,  from  the 
mottled  face  at  the  coach  window,  I  cast  them  swiftly  about 
until  they  presently  met  those  of  one  of  the  four  outside 
passengers  —  a  tall,  roughly-clad  man  who  leaned  far  out 
from  the  coach  roof,  watching  me  intently;  and  his  face 
was  thin,  and  very  pale,  and  the  eyes  which  stared  into 
mine  glowed  beneath  a  jagged  prominence  of  brow. 

At  the  time,  though  I  wondered  at  the  man's  expression, 
and  the  fixity  of  his  gaze,  I  paid  him  no  further  heed,  but 
turned  my  attention  back  to  Mottle-face,  who  had,  by  this 
time,  bellowed  himself  purple.  Howbeit,  in  due  time,  the 
flask  having  been  replenished  and  handed  to  him,  he  dived 
back  into  the  recesses  of  the  coach,  jerked  up  the  window, 
and  vanished  as  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared. 

But  now  the  four  fresh  horses  were  in  and  harnessed, 
capering  and  dancing  with  an  ostler  at  the  head  of  each; 
the  Driver  tossed  off  his  glass  of  rum  and  water,  cast  an 
eye  up  at  the  clouds,  remarked :  "  Wind,  by  Gemini ! " 
settled  his  feet  against  the  dashboard,  and  gathered  up  the 
reins.  And  now,  too,  the  Guard  appeared,  wiping  his  lips 
as  he  came,  who  also  cast  an  eye  up  at  the  heavens, 
remarked :  "  Dust,  by  Jingo !  "  and  swung  himself  up  into 
the  rumble. 

"  All  right  behind.'* "  sang  out  the  Driver,  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  All  right !  "  sang  back  the  guard. 

"  Then  —  let  'em  go !  "  cried  the  Driver.  Whereupon 
the  ostlers  jumped  nimbly  back,  the  horses  threw  up  their 


At  "The  Chequers"  Inn         67 

heads,  and  danced  undecidedly  for  a  moment,  the  long 
whip  cracked,  hoofs  clattered,  sparks  flew,  and,  rumbling 
and  creaking,  off  went  the  London  Mail  with  such  a  flourish 
of  the  horn  as  woke  many  a  sleepy  echo,  near  and  far.  As 
I  turned  away,  I  noticed  that  there  remained  but  three  out- 
side passengers ;  the  pale-faced  man  had  evidently  alighted, 
yet,  although  I  glanced  round  for  him,  he  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen. 

Hereupon,  being  in  no  mind  to  undergo  the  operation  of 
having  my  eye  filled  up,  and,  moreover,  finding  myself 
thirsty,  I  stepped  into  the  "  Tap."  And  there,  sure 
enough,  was  the  Outside  Passenger  staring  moodily  out  of 
the  window,  and  with  an  untouched  mug  of  ale  at  his  elbow. 
Opposite  him  sat  an  old  man  in  a  smock  frock,  who  leaned 
upon  a  holly-stick,  talking  to  a  very  short,  fat  man  behind 
the  bar,  who  took  my  twopence  with  a  smile,  smiled  as  he 
drew  my  ale,  and,  smiling,  watched  me  drink. 

"  Be  you  from  Lunnon,  sir.?  "  inquired  the  old  man,  eye- 
ing me  beneath  his  hoary  brows  as  I  set  down  my  tankard. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  think  o'  that  now  —  I  Ve  been  a-goin'  to  Lun- 
non this  five  an'  forty  year  —  started  out  twice,  I  did, 
but  I  never  got  no  furder  nor  Sevenoaks !  " 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  theer  's  *  The  White  Hart '  at  Sevenoaks,  an' 
they  brews  fine  ale  at  '  The  White  Hart,'  d'  ye  see,  an'  one 
glass  begets  another." 

"  And  they  sent  ye  back  in  the  carrier's  cart !  "  said  the 
fat  man,  smiling  broader  than  ever. 

"  Ever  see  the  Lord  Mayor  a-ridin'  in  'is  goold  coach, 
sir.''  "  pursued  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Ever  speak  to  'im  ?  " 

"  Why,  no." 

"  Ah  well,  I  once  knowed  a  man  as  spoke  to  the  Lord 
Mayor  o'  Lunnon's  coachman  —  but  'e  's  dead,  took  the 
smallpox  the  year  arterwards  an'  died,  'e  did." 

At  this  juncture  the  door  was  thrown  noisily  open,  and 


68  The  Broad  Highway 

two  gentlemen  entered.  The  first  was  a  very  tall  man  with 
black  hair  that  curled  beneath  his  hat-brim,  and  so  luxuriant 
a  growth  of  whisker  that  it  left  little  of  his  florid  counte- 
nance exposed.  The  second  was  more  slightly  built,  with  a 
pale,  hairless  face,  wherein  were  set  two  small,  very  bright 
eyes,  rather  close  together,  separated  by  a  high,  thin  nose 
with  nostrils  that  worked  and  quivered  when  he  spoke,  a 
face  whose  most  potent  feature  was  the  mouth,  coarse  and 
red,  with  a  somewhat  protuberant  under  lip,  yet  supported 
by  a  square,  determined  chin  below  —  a  sensual  mouth  with 
more  than  a  suspicion  of  cruelty  lurking  in  its  full  cui'ves, 
and  the  big  teeth  which  gleamed  white  and  serrated  when  he 
laughed.  Indeed,  the  whole  aspect  of  the  man  filled  me  with 
an  instinctive  disgust. 

They  were  dressed  in  that  mixture  of  ultra-fashionable 
and  horsey  styles  pecuhar  to  the  "  Corinthian,"  or  "Buck" 
of  the  period,  and  there  was  in  their  air  an  overbearing  yet 
lazy  insolence  towards  all  and  sundry  that  greatly  an- 
noyed me. 

"  Fifteen  thousand  a  year,  b}'  gad !  "  exclaimed  the  taller 
of  the  two,  giving  a  supercilious  sniff  to  the  brandy  he  had 
just  poured  out. 

"  Yes,  ha !  ha !  —  and  a  damnably  pretty  filly  into  the 
bargain !  " 

"  You  always  were  so  infernally  lucky !  "  retorted  the 
first. 

"  Call  it  rather  the  reward  of  virtue,"  answered  his  com- 
panion with  a  laugh  that  showed  his  big,  white  teeth. 

*'  And  what  of  Beverley  —  poor  dey-vil .''  "  inquired  the 
first. 

"  Beverley !  "  repeated  the  other ;  "  had  he  possessed  any 
spirit  he  would  have  blown  his  brains  out,  like  a  gentleman : 
as  it  was,  he  preferred  merely  to  disappear,"  and  herewith 
the  speaker  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  drank  off  his  glass 
with  infinite  relish  and  gusto. 

"  And  a  —  pretty  filly,  you  say  ?  " 

"'  Oh,  I  believe  you !  Country  bred,  but  devilish  well- 
blooded  —  trust  Beverley  for  that." 


At  "The  Chequers"  Inn  69 

"  Egad,  jes  —  Beverley  had  a  true  eye  for  beauty  or 
breed,  poor  dey-vil ! "  This  expression  of  pity  seemed  to 
afford  each  of  them  much  subtle  enjoyment.  "  Harking 
back  to  this  —  filly,"  said  the  big  man,  checkin^g  his  merri- 
ment, "  how  if  she  jibs,  and  cuts  up  rough,  kicks  over  the 
traces  —  deyvilish  awkward,  eh?  " 

His  companion  raised  his  foot  and  rested  it  carelessly, 
upon  the  settle  near  by,  and  upon  the  heel  of  his  slim  rid- 
ing-boot I  saw  a  particularly  cruel-looking,  long-necked 
spur. 

"  My  dear  Mostyn,"  said  he,  his  nostrils  working,  "  for 
such  an  emergency  there  is  nothing  like  a  pair  of  good 
sharp  '  persuaders,'  "  here  he  tapped  the  spur  lightly  with 
the  slender  gold-mounted  cane  he  carried ;  "  and  I  rather 
fancy  I  know  just  how  and  when  to  use  'em,  Mostyn."  And 
once  again  I  saw  the  gleam  of  his  big,  white  teeth. 

All  this  I  heard  as  they  lolled  within  a  yard  of  me,  mani- 
festing a  lofty  and  contemptuous  disregard  for  all  save 
themselves,  waited  upon  most  deferentially  by  the  smiling 
fat  fellow,  and  stared  at  by  the  aged  man  with  as  much  ad- 
miring awe  as  if  they  had  each  been  nothing  less  than  a  lord 
mayor  of  London  at  the  very  least.  But  now  they  leaned 
their  heads  together  and  spoke  in  lowered  tones,  but  some- 
thing in  the  leering  eyes  of  the  one,  and  the  smiling  lips  of 
the  other,  told  me  that  it  was  not  of  horses  that  they  spoke. 

".  .  .  Bring  her  to  reason,  by  gad !  "  said  the  slighter 
of  the  two,  setting  down  his  empty  glass  with  a  bang,  "  oh, 
trust  me  to  know  their  pretty,  skittish  ways,  trust  me  to 
manage  'em ;  I  've  never  failed  yet,  by  gad !  " 

"  Curse  me,  that 's  true  enough ! "  said  the  other,  and 
here  they  sank  their  voices  again. 

My  ale  being  finished,  I  took  up  my  staff,  a  heavy, 
knotted  affair,  and  turned  to  go.  Now,  as  I  did  so,  my 
foot,  by  accident,  came  in  contact  with  the  gold-mounted 
cane  I  have  mentioned,  and  sent  it  clattering  to  the  floor. 
T  was  on  the  point  of  stooping  for  it,  when  a  rough  hand 
gripped  my  shoulder  from  behind,  twisting  me  savagely 
about,  and  I  thus  found  myself  staring  upon  two  rows  of 
sharp,  white  teeth. 


70  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Pick  it  up ! "  said  he,  motioning  imperiously  to  the 
cane  on  the  floor  between  us. 

*'  Heaven  forbid,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  '  is  thy  servant  a  dog 
that  he  should  do  this  thing?'  " 

"  I  told  you  to  pick  it  up,"  he  repeated,  thrusting  his 
head  towards  me ;  "  are  you  going  to  do  so,  or  must  I 
make  you?  "  and  his  nostrils  worked  more  than  ever. 

For  answer  I  raised  my  foot  and  sent  the  cane  spinning 
across  the  room.  Somebody  laughed,  and  next  moment 
my  hat  was  knocked  from  my  head.  Before  he  could  strike 
again,  however,  I  raised  my  staff,  but  suddenly  remem- 
bering its  formidable  weight,  I  altered  the  direction  of  the 
blow,  and  thrust  it  strongly  into  the  very  middle  of  his 
gayly  flowered  waistcoat.  So  strongly  did  I  thrust,  indeed, 
that  he  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  timely  assistance  of 
his  companion. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  I,  holding  him  off  on  the  end  of  my 
staff,  "  be  calm  now,  and  let  us  reason  together  like  logical 
beings.  I  knocked  down  your  cane  by  accident,  and  you, 
my  hat  by  intent;  very  well  then,  be  so  good  as  to  return 
me  my  property,  from  the  comer  yonder,  and  we  will  call 
*  quits.'  " 

"  No,  by  gad !  "  gasped  my  antagonist,  bending  almost 
double,  "  wait  —  only  wait  until  I  get  —  my  wind  —  I  '11 
choke  —  the  infernal  life  out  of  you  —  only  wait,  by  gad !  " 

"  Willingly,"  said  I,  "  but  whatever  else  you  do,  you 
will  certainly  reach  me  my  hat,  otherwise,  just  so  soon  as 
you  find  yourself  sufficiently  recovered,  I  shall  endeavor  to 
throw  you  after  it."  Saying  which,  I  laid  aside  my  staff, 
and  buttoned  up  my  coat. 

"  Why,"  he  began,  "  you  infernally  low,  dusty,  ditch- 
trotting  blackguard "     But  his  companion,  who  had 

been  regarding  me  very  closely,  twitched  him  by  the  sleeve, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  Whatever  it  was  it 
affected  my  antagonist  strangely,  for  he  grew  suddenly 
very  red,  and  then  very  white,  and  abruptly  turned  his 
back  upon  me. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Mostyn?  "  said  he  in  an  undertone. 


At  "  The  Chequers  "  Inn         7  i 

«  Certain." 

**  Well,  I  'd  fight  him  were  he  the  devil  himself !  Pistols 
perhaps  would  be " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Harry,"  cried  the  other,  and  seizing 
his  arm,  drew  him  farther  away,  and,  though  they  low- 
ered their  voices,  I  caught  such  fragments  as  "  What  of 
George?  "  *'  changes  since  your  time,"  "  ruin  your  chances 
at  the  start,"  "  dead  shot." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  my  hat  —  in  the  comer  yonder." 

Almost  to  my  surprise,  the  taller  of  the  two  crossed  the 
room,  followed  by  his  friend,  to  whom  he  still  spoke  in  low- 
ered tones,  stooped,  picked  up  my  hat,  and,  while  the  other 
stood  scowling,  approached,  and  handed  it  to  me  with  a 
bow. 

"  That  my  friend.  Sir  Harry  Mortimer,  lost  his  temper, 
is  regretted  both  by  him  and  myself,"  said  he,  "  but  is 
readily  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  has  been  a  long  time 
from  London,  while  I  labored  under  a  —  a  disadvantage, 
sir  —  until  your  hat  was  off." 

Now,  as  he  spoke,  his  left  eyelid  flickered  twice  in  rapid 
succession. 

"  I  beg  you  won't  mention  it,"  said  I,  putting  on  my  hat ; 
*'  but,  sir,  why  do  you  wink  at  me .''  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  he,  laughing  and  shaking  his  head,  "  ha ! 
ha !  —  deyvilish  good !  By  the  way,  they  tell  me  George 
himself  is  in  these  parts  —  incog,  of  course " 

"  George.?  "  said  I,  staring. 

"  Cursed  rich,  on  my  life  and  soul !  "  cried  the  tall  gen- 
tleman, shaking  his  head  and  laughing  again.  "  Mum  's 
the  word,  of  course,  and  I  swear  a  shaven  face  becomes  you 
most  deyvilishly !  " 

*'  Perhaps  you  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  tell  me  what  you 
mean  ?  "  said  I,  frowning. 

**  Oh,  by  gad !  "  he  cried,  fairly  hugging  himself  with 
delight.  "  Oh,  the  devil !  this  is  too  rich  —  too  infernally 
rich,  on  my  hfe  and  soul  it  is !  '* 

Now  all  at  once  there  recurred  to  me  the  memory  of  Tom 
Cragg,  the  Pugilist;  of  how  he  too  had  winked  at  me,  and 


72  The  Broad  Highway 

of  his  incomprehensible  manner  afterwards  beneath  the  gib- 
bet on  River  Hill. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  do  you  happen  to  know  a  pugilist,  Tom 
Cragg  by  name  ?  " 

"  Tom  Cragg !  well,  I  should  think  so ;  who  does  n't, 
sir?  " 

"  Because,"  I  went  on,  "  he  too  seems  to  labor  under  the 
delusion  that  he  is  acquainted  with  me,  and " 

"  Acquainted ! "  repeated  the  tall  gentleman,  "  ac- 
quainted !  Oh,  gad !  "  and  immediately  hugged  himself  in 
another  ecstasy. 

"  If,"  said  I,  "  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  for 
whom  you  evidently  mistake  me " 

"  Mistake  you !  "  he  gasped,  throwing  himself  upon  the 
settle  and  rocking  to  and  fro,  "  ha !  ha !  —  mistake  you  !  " 

Seeing  I  did  but  waste  my  breath,  I  turned  upon  my  heel, 
and  made  for  the  door*  As  I  went,  my  eye,  by  chance, 
lighted  upon  a  cheese  that  stood  at  the  fat  landlord's  elbow, 
and  upon  which  he  cast  amorous  glances  from  time  to  time. 

"  That  seems  a  fine  cheese !  "  said  I. 

"  It  is,  sir,  if  I  might  make  so  bold,  a  noble  cheese !  "  he 
rejoined,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  it  with  a  touch  that  was 
a  caress. 

"  Then  I  will  take  three  pennyworth  of  your  noble 
cheese,"  said  I. 

"  Cheese !  "  faintly  echoed  the  gentleman  upon  the  settle, 
*'  three  pennyworth.  Oh,  I  shall  die,  positively  I  shall 
burst ! " 

*'  Also  a  loaf,"  said  I.  And  when  the  landlord  had  cut 
the  cheese  with  great  nicety  —  a  generous  portion  —  and 
had  wrapped  it  into  a  parcel,  I  put  it,  together  with  the 
loaf,  into  my  knapsack,  and  giving  him  "  Good  day !  " 
strode  to  the  door.  As  I  reached  it,  the  tall  gentleman  rose 
from  the  settle,  and  bowed. 

"  Referring  to  George,  sir " 

"  George !  "  said  I  shortly ;  "  to  the  devil  with  George !  " 

Now  I  could  not  help  being  struck  by  the  effect  of  my 
words,  for  Sir  Harry  let  fall  his  cane,  and  stared  open- 


At  <' The  Chequers"  Inn         73 

mouthed,  while  his  companion  regarded  me  with  an  ex- 
pression between  a  frown  and  wide-eyed  dismay. 

"  Now  I  wonder,"  said  I  to  myself  as  I  descended  the 
steps,  "  I  wonder  who  George  can  be?  " 

Before  the  inn  there  stood  a  yellow-wheeled  stanhope 
with  a  horse  which,  from  his  manner  of  trembling  all  over 
for  no  conceivable  reason,  and  manifest  desire  to  stand  upon 
his  hind  legs,  I  conceived  to  be  a  thorough-bred;  and, 
hanging  grimly  to  the  bridle,  now  in  the  air,  now  on  terra 
firma,  alternately  coaxing  and  cursing,  was  my  friend  the 
Semiquavering  Ostler.  He  caught  sight  of  me  just  as  a 
particularly  vicious  jerk  swung  him  off  his  legs. 

"  Damn  your  liver !  "  he  cried  to  the  horse,  and  then,  to 
me:  "  If  you  '11  jest  call  Joe  to  'old  this  'ere  black  varmin 
for  me,  I  '11  —  fill  yer  —  eye  up." 

"  Thanks,"  said  I,  "  but  I  much  prefer  to  keep  it  as  it 
is ;  really  there  is  no  need  to  trouble  Joe,  and  as  for  you,  I 
wish  you  good  morning !  " 

And  when  I  had  gone  a  little  way,  chancing  to  glance 
back  over  my  shoulder,  I  saw  that  the  Outside  Passenger 
stood  upon  the  inn  steps,  and  was  staring  after  me. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE    ONE-LEGGED    SOLDIEE 

Following  the  high  road,  I  came,  in  a  little,  to  where  the 
ways  divided,  the  one  leading  straight  before  me,  the  other 
turning  sharp  to  the  left,  where  (as  I  remember)  is  a  very 
steep  hill. 

And  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  was  a  finger-post  with 
the  words :  "  To  London.  To  Tonbridge  Wells.  To 
Pembry."  Now  as  I  stood  beneath  the  finger-post,  de- 
bating which  road  I  should  take,  I  was  aware  o*f  the  sound 
of  wheels,  and,  glancing  about,  saw  a  carrier's  cart  ap- 
proaching. The  driver  was  a  fine,  tall,  ruddy-faced  fellow, 
very  spruce  as  to  his  person,  who  held  himself  with  shoul- 
ders squared  and  bolt  upright,  and  who  shouted  a  cheery 
greeting  to  me. 

"  If  so  be  you  are  for  Pembry,  or  thereabouts,  sir," 
said  he,  bringing  his  horses  to  a  standstill,  "  why,  jump  up, 
sir  —  that  is,  if  you  be  so  minded.'* 

**  My  course  lies  anywhere,"  said  I. 

"  Then  —  if  you  be  so  minded ?  " 

"  I  am  so  minded,"  said  I. 

*'  Then,  sir,  jump  up,"  said  he. 

"  Thanks !  "  said  I. 

So  I  climbed  upon  the  seat  beside  him,  and  then  I  saw 
that  he  had  a  wooden  leg,  and  straightway  understood  his 
smart  bearing,  and  general  neat  appearance. 

"  You  have  been  a  soldier?  "  said  I. 

"  And  my  name  's  Tom,  and  I  could  tell  you  a  sight 
about  them  Spanishers,  and  Frenchies  —  that  is,  if  —  you 
be  so  minded.'*  " 


The  One-Legged  Soldier        75 

"  I  am  so  minded ;  fire  away,  Tom." 
*     "  Well,"  he  began,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  "  wheeler's  " 
ears,  "  they  Frenchies  ain't  so  bad  as  is  thought,  though 
they  do  eat  frogs,  but  what  I  say  is  —  if  they  be  so  minded, 
why  frogs  let  it  be !  " 

"  To  be  sure !  "  said  I. 

'*  And  after  all  they  're  well  worth  fighting,  and  that 's 
more  than  you  can  say  for  a  many !  " 

"  True,"  said  I,  "  one  generally  has  a  certain  respect  for 
the  man  one  fights." 

"  Then  there  's  Old  Bony." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him.''  " 

"  I  have,  sir ;  I  were  captured  outside  the  Lines  of  Torres 
Vedras,  and  I  saw  Old  Bony  eating  his  breakfast  off  a 
drum-head  wi'  one  hand  and  a-writing  a  dispatch  wi'  the 
other  —  a  little  fat  man  not  so  high  as  my  shoulder,  look 
you.  There  's  some  as  says  as  Old  Bony  lives  on  new-bom 
babies,  but  I  know  different.  Because  why,  says  you.''  Be- 
cause I  've  seen  with  these  'ere  '  peepers,'  says  I  —  bread 
it  were,  and  cheese,  and  garlic,  and  a  uncommon  lot  at 
that." 

"  And  where  did  you  lose  your  leg,  Tom.'*  " 

"  Vittoria  —  I  'appened  to  be  carrying  my  off'cer.  En- 
sign Standish  his  name,  barely  eighteen  year  old.  Shot 
through  the  lung  he  were,  and  a-trying  to  tell  me  to  put 
him  down  and  go,  the  fire  being  uncommonly  'ot  there, 
you  '11  understand,  sir,  and  as  I  say,  he  were  trying  to  tell 
me  to  drop  him  and  run  for  it,  and  blowing  blood-bubbles 
wi'  every  word,  when  all  at  once  I  feels  a  sort  of  a  shock, 
and  there  I  was  on  my  back  and  him  atop  o'  me ;  and  when 
I  went  to  get  up  —  damme !  there  was  my  leg  gone  below 
the  knee,  and  no  pleasant  sight,  neither." 

"And  afterward?" 

"  Arterwards,"  he  repeated.  "  Why,  that  were  the  end 
o'  my  sojerin',  ye  see;  we  lay  in  the  same  'ospital  'im  an' 
me,  side  by  side,  and  he  swore  as  I  'd  saved  his  life  —  which 
I  'ad  n't,  look  you,  and  likewise  swore  as  he  'd  never  forget 
it.    And  he  never  'as  either,  for  here  am  I  wi'  my  own  horse 


76  The  Broad  Highway 

and  cart,  Tom  Price  bj  name,  carrier  by  trade,  an'  very 
much  at  your  service,  sir,  I  'm  sure." 

Thus  we  climbed  the  hill  of  Pembry,  by  tree  and  hedge, 
and  lonely  cottage,  by  rolling  meadow,  and  twilit  wood, 
Tom  the  Soldier  and  I. 

Much  he  told  me  of  lonely  night  watches,  of  death  sudden 
and  sharp,  of  long,  weary  marches,  and  stricken  fields,  of 
the  bloody  doings  of  the  Spanish  Guerrillas,  of  Mina,  and 
his  deviltries.  And  in  my  ears  was  the  roar  of  guns,  and 
before  my  eyes  the  gleam  and  twinkle  of  bayonets.  By 
the  side  of  Tom  the  Soldier  I  waited  the  thunderous  charge 
of  French  Dragoons,  saw  their  stem,  set  faces,  and  the 
flash  of  their  brandished  steel  as  they  swept  down  upon 
our  devoted  square,  swept  down  to  break  in  red  confusion 
before  our  bristling  bayonets ;  and  the  air  was  full  of  the 
screams  of  smitten  horses,  and  the  deep-throated  shouts  and 
groans  of  men.  By  the  side  of  Tom  the  Soldier  I  stormed 
through  many  a  reeking  breach,  swept  by  fire,  and  slip- 
pery with  blood ;  and  all  for  love  of  it,  the  munificent  sum 
of  eightpence  per  day,  and  that  which  we  call  "  Glory." 
Bravo,  Tom  the  Soldier! 

And  presently  I  became  aware  that  he  had  stopped  his 
horses,  and  was  regarding  me  smilingly. 

"  Tom,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  wonderful  talker !  " 

"  And  you,  sir,"  said  he,  "  are  a  better  listener,  and, 
look  you,  a  good  listener  is  mighty  hard  to  come  by.  How- 
somcver,  here  's  the  end  o'  my  journey,  more  's  the  pity, 
but  if  you " 

"  Tom,"  said  I  suddenly,  "  you  never  heard  of  Tom 
Cragg,  did  you.''  " 

"  Can't  say  as  I  have,"  he  answered,  stroking  his  chin 
thoughtfully,  "  though  there  was  a  Dick  Snagget  in  the 
*  Thirty-Ninth,'  I  remember " 

"  And  you  don't  know  who  '  George  '  is,  of  course.?  "  I 
continued  musingly. 

"  Why,  I  've  knowed  a  many  Georges  in  my  time,"  said 
he,  "  and  then  there  's  George,  Prince  o'  Wales,  the  Prince 
Regent,  as  they  calls  him  now." 


The  One- Legged  Soldier  77 

"  Greorge,  Prince  of  Wales !  "  said  I,  staring ;  "  by 
heavens,  Tom,  I  believe  you  Ve  hit  it ! "  And,  with  the 
word,  I  sprang  down  from  the  cart. 

"  My  cottage  is  near  by,  sir,  and  I  should  be  proud  for 
you  to  eat  supper  wi'  me  —  that  is  —  if  you  be  so 
minded  ?  " 

"  Many  thanks,"  said  I,  "  but  I  am  not  so  minded,  and 
so,  good-by,  Tom !  "  And,  with  the  words,  I  wrung  the 
soldier's  honest  hand  in  mine,  and  went  upon  my  way. 

"  George,  Prince  of  Wales !  "  said  I  to  myself ;  "  could 
this  be  the  '  George  '  they  had  meant?  If  so,  then  who  and 
what  had  they  supposed  me?  "  Hereupon,  as  I  walked,  I 
fell  into  a  profound  meditation,  in  which  I  presently  remem- 
bered how  that  Tom  Cragg  had  also  mentioned  the  Prince, 
giving  me  to  understand  that  his  Highness  had  actually 
ordered  him  (Tom  Cragg)  to  leave  London;  and  why? 
"  Arter  that  theer  kidnappin',  an'  me  'avin'  laid  out  Sir 
Jarsper  Trent  —  accordin'  to  yer  order." 

Sir  Jasper  Trent !  I  stopped  stock  still  in  the  road.  Sir 
Jasper  Trent !  At  last  I  remembered  the  name  that  had 
eluded  me  so  persistently.  Remembered  it?  Nay,  indeed, 
it  was  rather  as  if  the  Pugihst  had  whispered  the  words 
into  my  ear,  and  I  glanced  round  almost  expecting  to  see 
him. 

"  Arter  that  theer  kidnappin',  an'  me  'avin'  laid  out  Sir 
Jarsper  Trent  —  accordin'  to  yer  orders  !  " 

According  to  my  orders,  or  rather,  the  orders  of  the  man 
for  whom  he  (in  common  with  the  two  gentlemen  at  "  The 
Chequers  ")  had  mistaken  me.  But  who  was  that  man?  Of 
him  I  knew  two  facts  —  namely,  that  he  was  much  like  me 
in  person,  and  had  formerly  worn,  or  possibly  still  wore, 
whiskers.  And  beyond  these  two  facts  I  could  get  no 
farther,  revolve  the  matter  how  I  might,  so  I  presently 
shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  banishing  it  from  my  thoughts 
for  the  time  being,  set  forward  at  a  good  pace. 


CHAPTER   Xm 

IN    WHICH    I    FIND    AN    ANSWEE    TO    MY    RIDDLE 

The  sun  was  already  westering  when  I  came  to  a  pump 
beside  the  way ;  and  seizing  the  handle  I  worked  it  vigor- 
ously, then,  placing  my  hollowed  hands  beneath  the  gush- 
ing spout,  drank  and  pumped,  alternately,  until  I  had 
quenched  my  thirst.  I  now  found  myself  prodigiously 
hungry,  and  remembering  the  bread  and  cheese  in  my  knap- 
sack, looked  about  for  an  inviting  spot  in  which  to  eat. 

On  one  side  of  the  road  was  a  thick  hedge,  and,  beneath 
this  hedge,  a  deep,  dry,  grassy  ditch;  and  here,  after  first 
slipping  off  my  knapsack,  I  sat  down,  took  out  the  loaf  and 
the  cheese,  and  opening  my  clasp-knife,  prepared  to  fall  to. 

At  this  moment  I  was  interrupted  in  a  rather  singular 
fashion,  for  hearing  a  rustling  close  by,  I  looked  up,  and 
into  a  face  that  was  protruded  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge 
above  me. 

It  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  battered  hat  with  its  jaunty 
brim,  and  great  silver  buckle,  and  the  haggard,  devil-may- 
care  face  below,  to  recognize  the  individual  whom  I  had 
seen  thrown  out  of  the  hedge  tavern  the  morning  before. 

It  was  a  very  thin  face,  as  I  have  said,  pale  and  hollow- 
eyed  and  framed  in  black  curly  hair,  whose  very  blackness 
did  but  accentuate  the  extreme  pallor  of  the  skin,  which 
was  tight,  and  drawn  above  the  cheek  bones  and  angle  of 
the  jaw.  Yet,  as  I  looked  at  this  face,  worn  and  cadaverous 
though  it  was,  in  the  glance  of  the  hollow  eyes,  in  the  line 
of  the  clean-cut  mouth  I  saw  that  mysterious  something 
which  marks  a  man,  what  we  call  for  want  of  a  better  word, 
a  gentleman. 


I  Find  an  Answer  to  my  Riddle    79 

"  Good  evening !  "  said  he,  and  lifted  the  battered  hat. 

"  Good  evening !  "  I  returned. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  "  but  I  was  saluting  the  bread 
and  cheese." 

"Indeed!"  said  I. 

"  Indeed !  "  he  rejoined,  "  it  is  the  first  edible  I  have  been 
on  speaking  terms  with,  so  to  speak,  for  rather  more  than 
three  days,  sir." 

"  You  are  probably  hungry.?  "  said  I. 

"  It  would  be  foolish  to  deny  it,  sir." 

"  Then,  if  you  care  to'  eat  with  me  in  the  ditch  here,  you 
are  heartily  welcome,"  said  I. 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life !  "  said  he,  vaulting  very 
nimbly  through  the  hedge ;  "  you  shall  not  ask  me  twice 

or  the  very  deuce  is  in  it !    Believe  me,  I "     Here  he 

stopped,  very  suddenly,  and  stood  looking  at  me. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he  gently,  and  with  a  rising  inflection,  let- 
ting the  ejaculation  escape  in  a  long-drawn  breath. 

"  Well.''  "  I  inquired.  Now  as  I  looked  up  at  him,  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  man,  from  the  toes  of  his  broken  boots 
to  the  crown  of  the  battered  hat,  seemed  to  undergo  a 
change,  as  though  a  sudden,  fierce  anger  had  leapt  into 
life,  and  been  controlled,  but  by  a  strong  effort. 

"  On  my  life  and  soul,  now !  "  said  he,  falling  back  a  step, 
and  eyeing  me  with  a  vaguely  unpleasant  smile,  "  this  is  a 
most  unexpected  —  a  most  unlooked  for  pleasure ;  it  is  — 
I  vow  it  is." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  I. 

"  No,  sir,  no ;  to  meet  you  again  —  some  day  —  some- 
where —  alone  —  quite  alone,  sir,  is  a  pleasure  I  have  fre- 
quently dwelt  upon,  but  never  hoped  to  realize.  As  it  is, 
sir,  having,  in  my  present  condition,  no  chance  of  procuring 
better  weapons  than  my  fists,  allow  me  to  suggest  that  they 
are,  none  the  less,  entirely  at  your  service ;  do  me  the  in- 
finite kindness  to  stand  up." 

"  Sir,"  I  answered,  cutting  a  slice  from  the  loaf,  "you  are 
the  third  person  within  the  last  forty-eight  hours  who  has 
mistaken  me  for  another ;  it  really  gets  quite  wearisome." 


8o  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Mistaken  jou,"  he  broke  in,  and  his  smile  grew  suddenly 
bitter,  "  do  you  think  it  possible  that  I  could  ever  mis- 
take you?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it !  "  said  I.  "  Furthermore,  pray  do  not 
disparage  your  fists,  sir.  A  bout  at  fisticuffs  never  did  a 
man  any  harm  that  I  ever  heard;  a  man's  fists  are  good, 
honest  weapons  supplied  by  a  beneficent  Providence  —  far 
better  than  your  unnatural  swords  and  murderous  hair- 
triggers  ;  at  least,  so  'I  think,  being,  I  trust,  something  of 
a  philosopher.  Still,  in  this  instance,  never  having  seen 
your  face,  or  heard  your  voice  until  yesterday,  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  sit  here,  and  eat  my  bread  and  cheese,  and  if  you 
are  wise  you  will  hasten  to  follow  my  so  excellent  example 
while  there  is  any  left,  for,  I  warn  you,  I  am  mightily 
sharp  set." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  advancing  upon  me  threaten- 
ingly, "  enough  of  this  foolery !  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  I,  "  sit  down,  like  a  sensible  fellow, 
and  tell  me  for  whom  you  mistake  me." 

"  Sir,  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life !  "  said  he,  clenching 
his  fists,  and  I  saw  his  nostrils  dilate  suddenly.  "  I  take 
you  for  the  greatest  rogue,  the  most  gentlemanly  rascal 
but  one,  in  all  England !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  my  name.''  " 

"  Sir  Maurice  Vibart !  " 

"  Sir  Maurice  Vibart?  "  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  staring  at 
him  in  amazement.  "  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  is  my  cousin," 
said  I. 

And  so  we  stood,  for  a  long  minute,  immobile  and  silent, 
eyeing  each  other  above  the  bread  and  cheese. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

FUETHER    CONCERNING    THE    GENTLEMAN    IN    THE 
BATTERED    HAT 

"  Sir,"  said  my  companion  at  last,  lifting  the  battered 
hat,  "  I  tender  you  my  apology,  and  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  eat  with  you  in  the  ditch,  if  you  are  in  the  same  mind 
about  it?  " 

"  Then  you  believe  me?  " 

"  Indubitably,  sir,"  he  answered  with  a  faint  smile ;  "  had 
you  indeed  been  Sir  Maurice,  either  he  or  I,  and  most 
probably  I,  would  be  lying  flat  in  the  road,  by  this." 

So,  without  more  ado,  we  sat  down  in  the  ditch  together, 
side  by  side,  and  began  to  eat.  And  now  I  noticed  that 
when  he  thought  my  eye  was  upon  him,  my  companion  ate 
with  a  due  deliberation  and  nicety,  and  when  he  thought  it 
was  off,  with  a  voracity  that  was  painful  to  witness.  And 
after  we  had  eaten  a  while  in  silence,  he  turned  to  me  with 
a  sigh. 

"  This  is  very  excellent  cheese !  "  said  he. 

"  The  man  from  whom  I  bought  it,"  said  I,  "  called  it  a 
noble  cheese,  I  remember." 

"  I  never  tasted  one  of  a  finer  flavor !"  said  my  companion. 

"  Hunger  is  a  fine  sauce,"  said  I,  "  and  you  are  probably 
hungry  ?  " 

"  Hungry !  "  he  repeated,  bolting  a  mouthful  and  knock- 
ing his  hat  over  his  eyes  with  a  slap  on  its  dusty  crown. 
"  Egad,  Mr.  Vibart !  so  would  you  be  —  so  would  any  man 
be  who  has  lived  on  anything  he  could  beg,  borrow,  or 
steal,  with  an  occasional  meal  of  turnips  —  in  the  digging 


82  The  Broad  Highway 

of  which  I  am  become  astonishingly  expert  —  and  unripe 
blackberries,  which  latter  I  have  proved  to  be  a  very  trying 
diet  in  many  ways  —  hungry,  oh,  damme !  " 

And  after  a  while,  when  there  nothing  remained  of  loaf 
or  cheese  save  a  few  scattered  crumbs,  ray  companion 
leaned  back,  and  gave  another  sigh. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand,  "  In  me 
you  behold  a  highly  promising  young  gentleman  ruined  by 
a  most  implacable  enemy  —  himself,  sir.  In  the  first  place 
you  must  know  my  name  is  Beverley  —  " 

"  Beverley.?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Beverley,"  he  nodded,  "  Peregrine  Beverley,  very  much 
at  your  service  —  late  of  Beverley  Place,  Surrey,  now  of 
Nowhere-in-Particular." 

"  Beverley,"  said  I  again,  "  I  have  heard  that  name 
before." 

"  It  is  highly  probable,  Mr.  Vibart ;  a  fool  of  that  name 

—  fortunate  or  unfortunate  as  you  choose  to  classify  him 

—  lost  houses,  land,  and  money  in  a  single  night's  play.  I 
am  that  fool,  sir,  though  you  have  doubtless  heard  par^ 
ticulars  ere  now.''  " 

"  Not  a  word !  "  said  I.  Mr.  Beverley  glanced  at  me  with 
a  faint  mingling  of  pity  and  surprise.  "  My  life,"  I 
explained,  "  has  been  altogether  a  studious  one,  with  the 
not  altogether  unnatural  result  that  I  also  am  bound  for 
Nowhere-in-Particular  with  just  eight  shillings  and  six- 
pence in  my  pocket." 

"  And  mine,  as  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  has  been  an  alto- 
gether riotous  one.  Thus  each  of  us,  though  by  widely 
separate  roads  —  you  by  the  narrow  and  difficult  path  of 
Virtue,  and  I  by  the  broad  and  easy  road  of  Folly  —  have 
managed  to  find  our  way  into  this  Howhng  Destitution, 
which  we  will  call  Nowhere-in-Particular.  Then  how  does 
your  path  of  Virtue  better  my  road  of  Evil.?  " 

"  The  point  to  be  considered,"  said  I,  "  is  not  so  much 
what  we  now  are,  but  rather,  what  we  have  done,  and  may 
ultimately  be,  and  do." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  he,  turning  to  look  at  me. 


The  Gentleman  in  the  Battered  Hat  83 

"  For  my  own  achievements,  hitherto,"  I  continued,  "  I 
have  won  the  High  Jump,  and  Throwing  the  Hammer,  also 
translated  the  works  of  Quintilian,  with  the  Satyricon  of 
Petronius  Arbiter,  and  the  Life,  Lives,  and  Memoirs  of  the 
Seigneur  de  Brantome,  which  last,  as  you  are  probably 
aware,  has  never  before  been  done  into  the  English." 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Beverley,  sitting  up  suddenly, 
with  his  ill-used  hat  very  much  over  one  eye,  "  there  we 
have  it !  Who  ever  heard  of  Old  Quin  —  What  's-his-name, 
or  cared,  except,  perhaps,  a  few  bald-headed  bookworms 
and  withered  Ktterateurs ,''  While  you  were  dreaming  of 
life,  and  reading  the  lives  of  other  fellows,  I  was  living  it. 
In  my  career,  episodically  brief  though  it  was,  I  have  met 
and  talked  with  all  the  wits,  and  celebrated  men,  have 
drunk  good  wine,  and  worshipped  beautiful  women,  Mr. 
Vibart." 

"  And  what  has  it  all  taught  you.'*  "  said  I. 

"  That  there  are  an  infernal  number  of  rogues  and  ras- 
cals in  the  world,  for  one  thing  —  and  that  is  worth 
knowing." 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  That,  though  money  can  buy  anything,  from  the  love 
of  a  woman  to  the  death  of  an  enemy,  it  can  only  be  spent 
once  —  and  that  is  worth  knowing  also." 

"  Yes,"  said  L 

"  And  that  I  am  a  most  preposterous  ass !  —  and  that 
last,  look  you,  is  more  valuable  than  all  the  others.  Solo- 
mon, I  think,  says  something  about  a  wise  man  being  truly 
wise  who  knoweth  himself  a  fool,  does  n't  he .''  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  flinging  his  hat  down  upon  the  grass 
beside  him,  "  what  argument  can  you  advance  in  favor  of 
your  *  Narrow  and  Thorny'.?  " 

"  The  sum  of  eight  shillings  and  sixpence,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  a  slice  of  noble  cheese,  now  no  more,"  said  I. 

"  Egad !  "  said  he,  looking  at  me  from  the  corners  of 
his  blue  eyes,  "  the  argument  is  unanswerable,  more  espe- 
cially the  cheese  part,  against  which  I  'd  say  nothing,  even 


84  The  Broad  Highway 

if  I  could."  Having  remarked  which,  he  lay  flat  on  his 
back  again,  staring  up  at  the  leaves,  and  the  calm  serenity 
of  the  sky  beyond,  while  I  filled  my  negro-head  pipe  from 
my  paper  of  tobacco,  and  forthwith  began  to  smoke. 

And,  presently,  as  I  sat  alternately  watching  the  blue 
wreaths  of  my  pipe  and  the  bedraggled  figure  extended 
beside  me,  he  suddenly  rolled  over  on  his  arm,  and  so  lay, 
watching  me. 

"  On  my  soul !  "  he  exclaimed  at  length,  "  it  is  positively 
marvellous." 

"What  is?"  I  inquired. 

"  The  resemblance  between  you  and  your  famous  cousin." 

"  It  would  appear  so,"  said  I,  shrugging  my  shoulders, 
"  though,  personally,  I  was  unaware  of  this  fact  up  till 
now." 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  have  never  seen  Sir  Maurice 
Vibart,  never  seen  '  Buck  '  Vibart  ?  " 

"  Never !  "  said  I. 

"  Too  much  occupied  in  keeping  to  the  Narrow  and 
Thorny,  I  suppose.?  Your  cousin's  is  the  Broad  and 
Flowery,  with  a  vengeance." 

"  So  I  understand,"  said  I. 

"  Nevertheless,  the  resemblance  between  you,  both  in  face 
and  figure,  is  positively  astounding!  With  the  sole  ex- 
ception that  he  wears  hair  upon  his  face,  and  is  of  a  ruddy 
complexion,  while  you  are  pale,  and  smooth-cheeked  as  — 
as  a  boy " 

"  Or  yourself !  "  said  I. 

"  Ah  —  exactly !  "  he  answered,  and  passed  his  fingers 
across  his  chin  tentatively,  and  fell  again  to  staring  lazily 
up  into  the  sky.  **  Do  you  happen  to  know  anything  about 
that  most  remarkable  species  of  the  '  genus  homo '  calling 
themselves  *  Bucks,'  or  '  Corinthians'?  "  he  inquired,  after 
a  while. 

"  Very  little,"  said  I,  "  and  that,  only  by  hearsay." 

*'  Well,  up  to  six  months  ago,  I  was  one  of  them,  Mr. 
Vibart,  until  Fortune,  and  I  think  now,  wisely,  decreed  it 
otherwise."     And  herewith,  lying  upon  his  back,  looking 


The  Gentleman  in  the  Battered  Hat  85 

up  through  the  quivering  green  of  leaves,  he  told  mad 
tales  of  a  reckless  Prince,  of  the  placid  Brummel,  of  the 
*'  Dashing  "  Vibart,  the  brilliant  Sheridan,  of  Fox,  and 
Grattan,  and  many  others,  whose  names  are  now  a  byword 
one  way  or  the  other.  He  recounted  a  story  of  wild  prodi- 
gality, of  drunken  midnight  orgies,  of  days  and  nights 
over  the  cards,  of  wine,  women,  and  horses.  But,  lastly 
and  very  reverently,  he  spoke  of  a  woman,  of  her  love,  and 
faith,  and  deathless  trust.  "  Of  course,"  he  ended,  "  I 
might  have  starved  very  comfortably,  and  much  quicker, 
in  London,  but  when  my  time  comes,  I  prefer  to  do  my 
dying  beneath  some  green  hedge,  or  in  the  shelter  of  some 
friendly  rick,  with  the  cool,  clean  wind  upon  my  face. 
Besides She  loved  the  country." 

"Then  there  are  some  women  who  can't  be  bought.?" 
said  I,  looking  at  his  glistening  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Vibart,"  said  he,  "  so  far  as  I  know,  there  are  two 
—  the  Lady  Helen  Dunstan  and  the  '  Glorious  '  Sefton." 

"  The  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  of  Cambourne.''  "  said  L 

"  And  —  the  Lady  Helen  Dunstan,"  he  repeated. 

"  Do  you  know  the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  .^  " 

"  I  have  had  the  honor  of  dancing  with  her  frequently," 
he  answered. 

"  And  is  she  so  beautiful  as  they  say.^*  " 

"  She  is  the  handsomest  woman  in  London,  one  of  your 
black-browed,  deep-eyed  goddesses,  tall,  and  gracious,  and 
most  nobly  shaped ;  though,  sir,  for  my  own  part,  I  prefer 
less  fire  and  ice  —  a  more  gentle  beauty." 

"  As,  for  instance,  the  Lady  Helen  Dunstan.''  "  said  I. 

"  Exactly !  "  nodded  Mr.  Beverley. 

"  Referring  to  the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton,"  I  pursued, 
"  she  is  a  reigning  toast,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Gad,  yes  !  her  worshippers  are  legion,  and  chief  among 
them  his  Royal  Highness,  and  your  cousin.  Sir  Maurice, 
who  has  actually  had  the  temerity  to  enter  the  field  as  the 
Prince's  avowed  rival ;  no  one  but  '  Buck  '  Vibart  could 
be  so  madly  rash !  " 

"  A  most  fortunate  lady !  "  said  I. 


86  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Mr.  Vibart !  '*  exclaimed  my  companion,  cocking  his 
battered  hat  and  regarding  me  with  a  smouldering  eye, 
"Mr.  Vibart,  I  object  to  your  tone;  the  noble  Sef ton's 
virtue  is  proud  and  high,  and  above  even  the  breath  of 
suspicion." 

"  And  yet  my  cousin  would  seem  to  be  no  laggard  in  love, 
and  as  to  the  Prince  —  his  glance  is  contamination  to  a 
woman." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Beverley  very  earnestly,  "  disabuse 
your  mind  of  all  unworthy  suspicions,  I  beg;  your  cousin 
she  laughs  to  scorn,  and  his  Royal  Highness  she  had  re- 
buffed as  few  women  have,  hitherto,  dared  do." 

"  It  would  almost  seem,"  said  I,  after  a  pause,  "  that, 
from  what  I  have  inadvertently  learned,  my  cousin  has  some 
dirty  work  afoot,  though  exactly  what,  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Vibart,  your  excellent  cousin  is  forever 
up  to  something  or  other,  and  has  escaped  the  well-merited 
consequences,  more  than  once,  owing  to  his  friendship  with, 
and  the  favor  of  his  friend " 

"George.?"  said  I. 

"  Exactly !  "  said  my  companion,  raising  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  nodding :  "  George." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  mention  of  Tom  Cragg,  the 
Pugilist?  "  I  inquired,  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the 
warm  air. 

"  I  won  ten  thousand  guineas  when  he  knocked  out  Ted 
Jarraway  of  Swansea,"  yawned  my  companion ;  "  a  good 
fighter,  but  a  rogue  —  like  all  the  rest  of  'em,  and  a  crea- 
ture of  your  excellent  cousin's." 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  I  nodded,  and  forthwith  plunged 
into  an  account  of  my  meeting  with  the  "  craggy  one,"  the 
which  seemed  to  amuse  Mr.  Beverley  mightily,  more  espe- 
cially when  I  related  Cragg's  mysterious  disappearance. 

"  Oh,  gad !  "  cried  Beverley,  wiping  his  eyes  on  the  tat- 
tered lapel  of  his  coat,  "  the  resemblance  served  you  luckily 
there ;  your  cousin  gave  him  the  thrashing  of  his  life,  and 
poor  Tom  evidently  thought  he  was  in  for  another.  That 
was  the  last  you  saw  of  him,  I  '11  be  bound." 


The  Gentleman  in  the  Battered  Hat    87 

"  No,  I  met  him  afterwards  beneath  the  gibbet  on  River 
Hill,  where,  among  other  incomprehensible  things,  he  gave 
me  to  understand  that  he  recognized  me  despite  my  dis- 
guise, assumed,  as  he  supposed,  on  account  of  his  having 
kidnapped  some  one  or  other,  and  '  laid  out '  a  certain  Sir 
Jasper  Trent  in  Wych  Street  according  to  my  orders,  or 
rather,  it  would  seem,  my  cousin's  orders,  the  author  of 
which  outrage  Sir  Jasper  had  evidently  found  out " 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Beverley,  and  sat  up  with 
a  jerk. 

"  And  furthermore,"  I  went  on,  "  he  informed  me  that 
the  Prince  himself  had  given  him  the  word  to  leave  London 
until  the  affair  had  blown  over." 

Now  while  I  spoke,  Mr.  Beverley  had  been  regarding  me 
with  a  very  strange  expression,  his  cheeks  had  gone  even 
paler  than  before,  his  eyes  seemed  to  stare  through,  and 
beyond  me,  and  his  hands  were  tight-clenched  at  his  sides. 

"  Mr.  Beverley,"  said  I,  "  what  ails  you?  " 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak,  then  answered,  with  the 
same  strange  look: 

"  Sir  Jasper  Trent  —  is  my  cousin,  sir !  " 

My  negro-head  pipe  slipped  suddenly,  and  fell  into  the 
grass,  happily  without  injury. 

"Indeed!"  said  I. 

"  Can  you  not  see  what  this  means,  sir?  "  he  went  on 
hurriedly.     "  Jasper  will  fight." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I  again,  "  I  fear  so." 

"  Jasper  was  always  a  bit  of  a  fish,  and  with  no  particu- 
lar affection  for  his  graceless  kinsman,  but  I  am  his  only 
relative ;  and  —  and  he  hardly  knows  one  end  of  a  pistol 
from  the  other,  while  your  cousin  is  a  dead  shot." 

"  My  cousin  !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  then  it  was  he  —  to  be 
sure  I  saw  only  his  back." 

"  Sir  Jasper  is  unmarried  —  has  no  relations  but  m}^- 
self,"  my  companion  repeated,  with  the  same  fixed  intent- 
ness  of  look ;  "  can  you  appreciate,  I  wonder,  what  this 
would  mean  to  me?  " 

"  Rank,  and  fortune,  and  London,"  said  I. 


88  The  Broad  Highway 

"  No,  no !  "  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  threw  wide  his 
ragged  arms  with  a  swift,  passionate  gesture.  "  It  means 
Life  ■ —  and  Helen,  My  God !  "  he  went  on,  speaking  al- 
most in  a  whisper,  "  I  never  knew  how  much  I  wanted  her 
—  how  much  I  had  wilfully  tossed  aside  —  till  now !  I 
never  realized  the  full  misery  of  it  all  —  till  now !  I  could 
have  starved  very  well  in  time,  and  managed  it  as  quietly 
as  most  other  ruined  fools.  But  now  —  to  see  the  chance 
of  beginning  again,  of  coming  back  to  self-respect  and  — 
Helen,  my  God !  "  And,  of  a  sudden,  he  cast  himself  upon 
his  face,  and  so  lay,  tearing  up  the  grass  by  handfuls. 
Then,  almost  as  suddenly,  he  was  upon  his  feet  again,  and 
had  caught  up  his  hat.  "  Sir,"  said  he  somewhat  shame- 
facedly, smoothing  its  ruffled  nap  with  fingers  that  still 
quivered,  "pray  forgive  that  little  ebullition  of  feeling; 
it  is  over  —  quite  over,  but  your  tidings  affected  me,  and  I 
am  not  quite  myself  at  times ;  as  I  have  already  said,  tur- 
nips and  unripe  blackberries  are  not  altogether  desirable 
as  a  diet." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  you  seemed  strangely  perturbed." 

"  Mr.  Vibart,"  said  he,  staring  very  hard  at  the  battered 
hat,  and  turning  it  round  and  round,  "  Mr.  Vibart,  the 
devil  is  surprisingly  strong  in  some  of  us." 

"  True,"  said  I. 

**  My  cousin,  Sir  Jasper,  is  a  bookish  fellow,  and,  as  I 
have  said,  a  fool  where  anything  else  is  in  question ;  if  this 
meeting  is  allowed  to  take  place,  I  feel  that  he  will  most 
certainly  be  killed,  and  his  death  would  mean  a  new  hfe  — 
more  than  life  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  And  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Vibart,  I  was  tempted  to  sit 
down  in  the  ditch  again,  and  let  things  take  their  course. 
The  devil,  I  repeat,  is  remarkably  strong  in  some  of  us." 

"  Then  what  is  your  present  intention  "^  " 

"  I  am  going  to  London  to  find  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  —  to 
stop  this  duel." 

"  Impossible !  "  said  I. 

"  But  you  see,  sir,  it  so  happens  that  I  am  possessed  of 


The  Gentleman  in  the  Battered  Hat  89 

certain  intelligence  which  might  make  Sir  Maurice's  exist- 
ence in  England  positively  untenable." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I,  "  it  is  impossible." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,  Mr.  Vibart,"  said  he,  and 
speaking,  turned  upon  his  heel. 

"  One  moment,"  said  I,  "  was  not  your  cousin.  Sir 
Jasper,  of  the  middle  height,  slim-built  and  fair-haired, 
with  a  habit  of  plucking  at  his  lips  when  at  all  nervous, 
or  excited.''  " 

"  Exactly;    you  know  him,  sir.?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  have  seen  him,  very  lately, 
and  I  say  again  to  stop  this  duel  is  an  impossibility." 

"  Do  you  mean "  he  began,  and  paused.     Now,  as 

his  eyes  met  mine,  the  battered  hat  escaped  his  fingers,  and 

lay  all  unheeded.     "  Do  you  mean "  he  began  again, 

and  again  stopped. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  mean  that  you  are  too  late.  Sir 
Jasper  was  killed  at  a  place  called  Deepdene  Wood,  no 
longer  since  than  to-day  at  half-past  seven  in  the  morning. 
It  was  raining  at  the  time,  I  remember,  but  the  day  grew 
glorious  later." 

For  a  long  moment  Mr.  Beverley  stood  silent  with  bent 
head,  then,  apparently  becoming  aware  of  the  hat  at  his 
feet,  he  sent  it  flying  with  a  sudden  kick,  and  watched  it 
describe  a  wide  parabola  ere  it  disappeared  into  the  ditch, 
some  yards  away.  Which  done,  he  walked  after  it,  and 
returned,  brushing  it  very  carefully  with  his  ragged  cuff. 

"And  —  you  are  sure  —  quite  sure,  Mr.  Vibart?"  he 
inquired,  smoothing  the  broken  brim  with  the  greatest 
solicitude. 

"  I  stood  behind  a  hedge,  and  watched  it  done,"  said  I. 

"  Then  —  my  God !  —  I  am  Sir  Peregrine  Beverley !  I 
am  Sir  Peregrine  Beverley  of  Bumham  Hall,  very  much  at 
your  service.  Jasper  —  dead !  A  knight  banneret  of  Kent, 
and  Justice  of  the  Peace !  How  utterly  preposterous  it  all 
sounds!  But  to-day  I  begin  life  anew,  ah,  yes,  a  new  life, 
a  new  life !  To-day  all  things  are  possible  again !  The 
fool  has  learned  wisdom,  and,  I  hope,  become  a  man.     But 


90  The  Broad  Highway 

come,"  said  he  in  a  more  natural  tone,  "  let  us  get  back  to 
our  ditch,  and,  while  you  tell  me  the  particulars,  if  you 
don't  object  I  should  much  like  to  try  a  whiif  at  that  pipe 
of  yours." 

So,  while  I  recounted  the  affair  as  briefly  as  I  might, 
he  sat  puffing  at  my  pipe,  and  staring  away  into  the  dis- 
tance. But  gradually  his  head  sank  lower  and  lower,  until 
his  face  was  quite  hidden  from  me,  and  for  a  long  moment 
after  I  had  ended  my  narration,  there  was  silence. 

"  Poor  Jasper !  "  said  he  at  last,  without  raising  his 
head,  "  poor  old  Jasper !  " 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Sir  Peregrine,"  said  I. 

"  And  I  used  to  pummel  him  so,  when  we  were  boys  to- 
gether at  Eton  —  poor  old  Jasper!  "  And,  presently,  he 
handed  me  my  pipe,  and  rose.  "  Mr.  Vibart,"  said  he,  "  it 
would  seem  that  by  no  effort,  or  virtue  of  my  own,  I  am 
to  win  free  of  this  howling  desolation  of  Nowhere-in-Par- 
ticular,  after  all ;  believe  me,  I  would  gladly  take  you  with 
me.  Had  I  not  met  with  you  it  is  —  rather  more  than 
probable  —  that  I  —  should  never  have  seen  another  dawn  ; 
so  if  —  if  ever  I  can  be  of  —  use  to  you,  pray  honor  me 
so  far;  you  can  always  hear  of  me  at  Burnham  Hall, 
Pembry.  Good-by,  Mr.  Vibart,  I  am  going  to  her  —  in 
all  my  rags  —  for  I  am  a  man  again." 

So  I  bade  him  good-by,  and,  sitting  in  the  ditch,  watched 
him  stride  away  to  his  new  life.  Presently,  reaching  the 
brow  of  the  hill  (there  are  hills  everywhere  in  the  South 
country),  I  saw  him  turn  to  flourish  the  battered  hat  ere 
he  disappeared  from  my  sight. 


CHAPTER    XV 

IN  WHICH  I  MEET  WITH  A  PEDLER  BY  THE  NAME  OF 
"  GABBING  "  DICK 

"  You  won't  be  wantin'  ever  a  broom,  now  ?  " 

I  sat  up,  sleepily,  and  rubbed  my  eyes.  The  sun  was 
gone,  and  the  blue  sky  had  changed  to  a  deep  purple,  set 
here  and  there  with  a  quivering  star.  Yet  the  light  was 
still  strong  enough  to  enable  me  to  distinguish  the  speaker 
—  a  short,  thick-set  man.  Upon  his  shoulder  he  carried 
a  bundle  of  brooms,  a  pack  was  slung  to  his  back,  while 
round  his  neck  there  dangled  a  heterogeneous  collection 
of  articles  —  ribbons,  laces,  tawdry  neck  chains,  and  the 
like;  indeed,  so  smothered  was  he  in  his  wares  that,  as  he 
stood  there,  he  had  more  the  aspect  of  some  disordered 
fancy  than  of  a  human  being. 

"  You  won't  be  wantin'  ever  a  broom,  now .''  "  he  repeated, 
in  a  somewhat  melancholy  tone. 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Nor  yet  a  mop .''  " 

"  Nor  that  either,"  said  I. 

"  A  belt,  now,"  he  suggested  mournfully,  "  a  fine  leather 
belt  wi'  a  steel  buckle  made  in  Brummagem  as  ever  was,  and 
all  for  a  shillin' ;   what  d'  ye  say  to  a  fine  belt.''  " 

"  That  I  have  no  need  of  one,  thank  you." 

"  Ah,  well!  "  said  the  man,  spitting  dejectedly  at  a  patch 
of  shadow,  "  I  thought  as  much ;  you  are  n't  got  the  look 
of  a  buyer." 

"Then  why  ask  me?" 

"Hinstinct!"  said  he,  "it's  jest  hinstinct  —  it  comes 
as  nat'ral  to  me  as  eatin',  or  walkin'  these  'ere  roads." 


92  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Have  you  come  far  to-day?  " 

"  Twenty  mile,  maybe,"  he  answered,  setting  down  his 
bundle  of  brooms. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  " 

"  'Course  I  'm  tired." 

"  Then  why  not  sit  down  and  rest  ?  " 

"  Because  I  'd  'ave  to  get  up  again,  would  n't  I  ?  " 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  'Ungry  are  n't  the  word  for  it." 

"  And  how  is  trade  .!*  " 

"  Could  n't  be  worse !  " 

"  I  perceive  you  are  a  pessimist,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  he, "  I  'm  a  pedler  —  baptism'l  name  Richard, 
commonly  known  as  '  Gabbin'  Dick.'  " 

"  At  least  yours  is  a  fine  healthy  trade,"  said  I. 

"  'Ow  so.?  " 

"  A  life  of  constant  exercise,  and  fresh  air ;  to-day  for 
instance " 

"  'Ot  as  a  hoven  !  "  said  he. 

"  Yet  there  was  a  good,  cool  wind,"  said  I. 

"  Ah !  an'  with  dust  enough  to  choke  a  man  !  And  then 
there  's  the  loneliness  o'  these  'ere  roads." 

"  Loneliness  ?  "  said  I. 

"  That 's  the  word ;  sometimes  it  gets  so  bad  as  I  'm 
minded  to  do  away  wi'  myself " 

"  Strange !  "  I  began. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  he ;  "  when  you  've  been  a-walkin'  an' 
a-walkin'  all  day  past  'edge  and  'edge,  and  tree  and  tree, 
it 's  bad  enough,  but  it 's  worse  when  the  sun  's  gone  out, 
an'  you  f oiler  the  glimmer  o'  the  road  on  and  on,  past 
'edges  as  ain't  'edges,  and  trees  as  ain't  trees,  but  things 
as  touch  you  as  you  pass,  and  reach  out  arter  you  in  the 
dark,  behind.  Theer  's  one  on  'em,  back  theer  on  the  Cran- 
brook  road,  looks  like  an  oak-tree  in  the  daytime  —  ah, 
an'  a  big  'un  —  it 's  nearly  'ad  me  three  times  a'ready  — 
once  by  the  leg,  once  by  the  arm,  and  once  by  the  neck.  I 
don't  pass  it  arter  dark  no  more,  but  it  '11  'ave  me  yet  — 
mark  my  words  —  it  '11  'ave  me  one  o'  these  fine  nights ; 


I  Meet  with  a  Pedler  93 

and  they  '11  find  me  a-danglin'  in  the  gray  o'  the 
dawn !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  afraid?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,  not  af eared  exactly ;  it 's  jest  the  loneliness  — 
the  lonely  quietness.  Why,  Lord !  you  are  n't  got  no  no- 
tion o'  the  tricks  the  trees  and  'edges  gets  up  to  a'  nights 

—  nobody  'as  but  us  as  tramps  the  roads.  Bill  Nye 
knowed,  same  as  I  know,  but  Bill  Nye  's  dead ;  cut  'is 
throat,  'e  did,  wi'  one  o'  'is  own  razors  —  under  a  'edge." 

"  And  what  for.?  "  I  inquired,  as  the  Pedler  paused  to 
spit  lugubriously  into  the  road  again. 

"  Nobody  knowed  but  me.  William  Nye  'e  were  a  tinker, 
and  a  rare,  merry  'un  'e  were  —  a  little  man  always  up  to 
'is  jinkin'  and  jokin'  and  laughin'.  '  Dick,'  'e  used  to  say 
(but  Richard  I  were  baptized,  though  they  calls  me  Dick 
for  short),  *  Dick,'  'e  used  to  say,  '  d'  ye  know  that  theer 
big  oak-tree  —  the  big,  'oiler  oak  as  stands  at  the  cross- 
roads a  mile  and  a  'alf  out  o'  Cranbrook.''  A  man  might 
do  for  'isself  very  nice,  and  quiet,  tucked  away  inside  of  it, 
Dick,'  says  'e ;  *  it 's  such  a  nice,  quiet  place,  so  snug  and 
dark,  I  wonder  as  nobody  does.  I  never  pass  by,'  says  'e, 
'  but  I  takes  a  peep  inside,  jest  to  make  sure  as  theer  are  n't 
no  legs  a-danglin',  nor  nobody  'unched  up  dead  in  the 
dark.  It 's  such  a  nice,  quiet  place,'  'e  used  to  say,  shakin' 
'is  'ead,  and  smilin'  sad-like,  *  I  wonder  as  nobody  's  never 
thought  of  it  afore.'  Well,  one  day,  sure  enough,  poor 
Bill  Nye  disappeared  —  nobody  knowed  wheer.  Bill,  as  I 
say,  was  a  merry  sort,  always  ready  wi'  a  joke,  and  that 's 
apt  to  get  a  man  friends,  and  they  searched  for  'im  'igh 
and  low,  but  neither  'ide  nor  'air  o'  poor  Bill  did  they  find. 
At  last,  one  evenin'  I  'appened  to  pass  the  big  oak  —  the 
'oiler  oak,  and  mindin'  Bill's  words,  thinks  I  —  'ere  's  to 
see  if  't  is  empty  as  Bill  said.  Goin'  up  to  it  I  got  down 
on  my  'ands  and  knees,  and,  strikin'  a  light,  looked  inside ; 
and  there,  sure  enough,  was  poor  Bill  Nye  hunched  up  in- 
side of  it  wi'  a  razor  in  'is  'and,  and  'is  'ead  nigh  cut  off 

—  and  what  wi'  one  thing  and  another,  a  very  unpleasant 
sight  he  were." 


94  The  Broad  Highway 

"  And  why  —  why  did  he  do  it?  "  I  asked. 

"Because  'e  'ad  to,  o'  course  —  it's  jest  the  loneliness. 
They  '11  find  rae  some  day,  danglin'  —  I  never  could  abide 
blood  myself  —  danglin'  to  the  thing  as  looks  like  a  oak- 
tree  in  the  daytime." 

"  What  do  you  mean .''  "  said  I. 

The  Pedler  sighed,  shook  his  head,  and  shouldered  his 
brooms. 

"It's  jest  the  loneliness!"  said  he,  and,  spitting  over 
his  shoulder,  trudged  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

HOW    I    HEARD    THE    STEPS    OF    ONE    WHO    DOGGED 
ME    IN    THE    SHADOWS 

And,  in  a  little  while,  I  rose,  and  buckled  on  my  knapsack. 
The  shadows  were  creeping  on  apace,  but  the  sky  was  won- 
derfully clear,  while,  low  down  upon  the  horizon,  I  saw  the 
full-orbed  moon,  very  broad  and  big.  It  would  be  a  bril- 
liant night  later,  and  this  knowledge  rejoiced  me  not  a  little. 

Before  me  stretched  a  succession  of  hills  —  that  chain 
of  hills  which,  I  believe,  is  called  the  Weald,  and  over  which 
the  dim  road  dipped,  and  wound,  with,  on  either  hand, 
a  rolling  country,  dark  with  wood,  and  coppice  —  full  of 
mystery.  The  wind  had  quite  fallen,  but  from  the  hedges 
came  sudden  rustlings  and  soft,  unaccountable  noises. 
Once,  something  small  and  dark  scuttered  across  the  road 
before  me,  and  once  a  bird,  hidden  near  by,  set  up  a  loud 
complaint,  while,  from  the  deeps  of  a  neighboring  wood, 
came  the  mournful  note  of  a  night-jar. 

And,  as  I  walked,  I  bethought  me  of  poor  Bill  Nye,  the 
Tinker.  I  could  picture  him  tramping  upon  this  very 
road,  his  jingling  load  upon  his  back,  and  the  "  loneliness  " 
upon  and  around  him.  A  small  man,  he  would  be,  with  a 
peaked  face,  little,  round,  twinkling  eyes,  grizzled  hair,  and 
a  long,  blue  chin.  How  I  came  to  know  all  this  I  cannot 
tell,  only  it  seemed  he  must  be  so.  On  he  went,  his  chin  first 
upon  one  shoulder,  and  now  upon  the  other,  shooting  fur- 
tive glances  at  hedges  which  were  not  hedges,  and  trees 
which  were  not  trees.  Somewhere  there  was  a  "  thing  " 
that  looked  like  a  big  oak-tree  in  the  daytime  —  a  hollow 
oak.     On  he  went  through  the  shadows,  on  and  on.     Pres- 


96  The  Broad  Highway 

ently  he  turned  out  of  the  road,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
was  the  oak  itself.  Kneehng  down,  he  slipped  off  his  bur- 
den and  pushed  it  through  a  jagged  hole  at  the  root.  Then 
he  glanced  round  him,  a  long,  stealthy  look,  down  at  the 
earth  and  up  at  the  sky,  and  crept  into  the  tree.  In  the 
dimness  I  could  see  him  fumble  for  the  thing  he  wanted, 
pause  to  thumb  its  edge,  and,  throwing  up  his  chin,  raise 
his  hand 

"  Folly !  "  said  I  aloud,  and  stopped  suddenly  in  my 
stride. 

The  moon's  rim  was  just  topping  the  trees  to  my  left, 
and  its  light,  feeble  though  it  was  as  yet,  served  to  show  that 
I  had  reached  a  place  where  four  roads  met. 

Now,  casting  my  eyes  about  me,  they  were  attracted  by 
a  great  tree  that  grew  near  by,  a  tree  of  vast  girth  and 
bigness.  And,  as  I  looked,  I  saw  that  it  was  an  oak-tree, 
near  the  root  of  which  there  was  a  j  agged,  black  hole. 

How  long  I  stood  staring  at  this,  I  cannot  say,  but,  all 
at  once,  the  leaves  of  the  tree  were  agitated  as  by  a  breath 
of  wind,  and  rustled  with  a  sound  indescribably  desolate, 
and  from  the  dark  mass  rose  the  long-drawn,  mournful  cry 
of  some  night  bird. 

Heedless  of  my  direction,  I  hurried  away,  yet,  even 
when  I  had  left  it  far  behind,  I  glanced  back  more  than 
once  ere  its  towering  branches  were  lost  to  my  view. 

So  I  walked  on  through  the  shadows,  past  trees  that  were 
not  trees,  and  hedges  that  were  not  hedges,  but  frightful 
phantoms,  rather,  lifting  menacing  arms  above  my  head, 
and  reaching  after  me  with  clutching  fingers.  Time  and 
again,  ashamed  of  such  weakness,  I  cursed  myself  for  an 
imaginative  fool,  but  kept  well  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  grasped  my  staff  firmly,  notwithstanding. 

I  had  gone,  perhaps,  some  mile  or  so  in  this  way,  alter- 
nately rating  and  reasoning  with  myself,  when  I  suddenly 
fancied  I  heard  a  step  behind  me,  and  swung  round  upon 
my  heel,  with  ready  stick ;  but  the  road  stretched  away  — 
empty  as  far  as  I  could  see.  Having  looked  about  me  on 
all  sides,  I  presently  went  on  again,  yet,  immediately,  it 


In  the  Shadows  97 

seemed  that  the  steps  began  also,  keeping  time  with  my  own, 
now  slow,  now  fast,  now  slow  again;  but,  whenever  I 
turned,  the  road  behind  was  apparently  as  empty  and  deso- 
late as  ever. 

I  can  conceive  of  few  things  more  nerve-racking  than  the 
knowledge  that  we  are  being  dogged  by  something  which 
we  can  only  guess  at,  and  that  all  our  actions  are  watched 
by  eyes  which  we  cannot  see.  Thus,  with  every  step,  I 
found  the  situation  grow  more  intolerable,  for  though  I 
kept  a  close  watch  behind  me  and  upon  the  black  gloom  of 
the  hedges,  I  could  see  nothing.  At  length,  however,  I 
came  upon  a  gap  in  the  hedge  where  was  a  gate,  and  beyond 
this,  vaguely  outlined  against  a  glimmer  of  sky,  I  saw  a 
dim  figure. 

Hereupon,  running  forward,  I  set  my  hand  upon  the 
gate,  and  leaping  over,  found  myself  face  to  face  with  a 
man  who  carried  a  gun  across  his  arm.  If  I  was  startled 
at  this  sudden  encounter  he  was  no  less  so,  and  thus  we 
stood  eyeing  each  other  as  well  as  we  might  in  the  half 
light. 

"  Well,"  I  demanded,  at  last,  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
following  me  like  this  ?  " 

"  I  are  n't  follered  ye,"  retorted  the  man. 

'*  But  I  heard  your  steps  behind  me." 

"  Not  mine,  master.  I  've  sat  and  waited  'ere  'arf  a 
hour,  or  more,  for  a  poachin'  cove " 

"  But  some  one  was  following  me." 

"  Well,  it  were  n't  I.  A  keeper  I  be,  a-lookin'  for  a 
poachin'  cove  just  about  your  size,  and  it 's  precious  lucky 
for  you  as  you  are  a-wearin'  that  there  bell-crowned 
'at !  " 

"Why  so.?" 

"  Because,  if  you  'ad  n't  'appened  to  be  a-wearin'  that 
there  bell-crowner,  and  I  'ad  n't  'appened  to  be  of  a  argi- 
fyin'  and  inquirin'  turn  o'  mind,  I  should  ha'  filled  you  full 
o'  buckshot." 

"  Oh.?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  nodding,  while  I  experienced  a  series  of 


98  The  Broad  Highway 

cold  chills  up  my  spine,  "  not  a  blessed  doubt  of  it. 
Poachers,"  he  went  on,  "  don't  wear  bell-crowiied  'ats  as 
a  rule  —  I  never  seed  one  as  did ;  and  so,  while  I  was 
a-watchin'  of  you  be'ind  this  'ere  'edge,  I  argies  the  matter 
in  my  mind.  *  Robert,'  I  says  to  meself,  '  Robert,'  I  sez, 
'  did  you  ever  'appen  to  see  a  poachin'  cove  in  a  bell- 
crowner  afore  .'^  No,  you  never  did,'  sez  I.  *  But,  on  the 
other  'and,  this  'ere  cove  is  the  very  spit  o'  the  poachin' 
cove  as  I  'm  a-lookin'  for.  True ! '  sez  I  to  meself,  '  but 
this  'ere  cove  is  a-wearin'  of  a  bell-crowner  'at,  but  the 
poachin'  cove  never  wore  a  bell-crowner  —  nor  never  will.' 
Still,  I  must  say  I  come  very  near  pullin'  trigger  on  ye  — 
just  to  make  sure.  So  ye  see  it  were  precious  lucky  for 
you  as  you  was  a-wearin'  o'  that  there " 

"  It  certainly  was,"  said  I,  turning  away. 

"  —  that  there  bell-crowner,  and  likewise  as  I  'm  a  man 
of  a  nat'ral  gift  for  argiment,  and  of  a  inquirin' " 

"  Without  doubt,"  said  I,  vaulting  over  the  gate  into  the 
road  once  more. 

"  —  turn  o'  mind,  because  if  I  'ad  n't  'a'  been,  and  you 
'ad  n't  'a'  wore  that  there  bell-crowner " 

"  The  consequences  are  unpleasantly  obvious !  "  said  I 
over  my  shoulder,  as  I  walked  on  down  the  road. 

"  —  I  should  ha'  shot  ye  —  like  a  dog !  "  he  shouted, 
hanging  over  the  gate  to  do  so. 

And,  when  I  had  gone  on  some  distance,  I  took  off  that 
which  the  man  had  called  a  "  bell-crowner,"  and  bestowed 
upon  it  a  touch,  and  looked  at  it  as  I  had  never  done  be- 
fore; and  there  was  gratitude  in  look  and  touch,  for  to- 
night it  had,  indeed,  stood  my  friend. 

Slowly,  slowly  the  moon,  at  whose  advent  the  starry  host 
"  paled  their  ineffectual  fires,"  mounted  into  a  cloudless 
heaven,  higher  and  higher,  in  queenly  majesty,  until  the 
dark  world  was  filled  with  her  glory,  and  the  road  before 
me  became  transformed  into  a  silver  track  splashed  here 
and  there  with  the  inky  shadow  of  hedge  and  trees,  and 
leading  away  into  a  land  of  "  Faerie." 

Indeed,  to  my  mind,  there  is  nothing  more  delightful  than 


In  the  Shadows  99 

to  walk  upon  a  country  road,  beneath  a  midsummer  moon, 
when  there  is  no  sound  to  break  the  stillness,  save,  perhaps, 
the  murmur  of  wind  in  trees,  or  the  throbbing  melody  of 
some  hidden  brook.  At  such  times  the  world  of  every  day 
—  the  world  of  Things  Material,  the  hard,  hard  world  of 
Common-sense  —  seems  to  vanish  quite,  and  we  walk  within 
the  fair  haven  of  our  dreams,  where  Imagination  meets,  and 
kisses  us  upon  the  brow.  And,  at  his  touch,  the  Impossible 
straightway  becomes  the  Possible;  the  Abstract  becomes 
the  Concrete;  our  fondest  hopes  are  realized;  our  most 
cherished  visions  take  form,  and  stand  before  us ;  surely, 
at  such  an  hour,  the  gods  come  down  to  walk  with  us 
awhile. 

From  this  ecstasy  I  was  suddenly  aroused  by  hearing 
once  more  the  sound  of  a  footstep  upon  the  road  behind 
me.  So  distinct  and  unmistakable  was  it  that  I  turned 
sharp  about,  and,  though  the  road  seemed  as  deserted  as 
ever,  I  walked  back,  looking  into  every  patch  of  shadow, 
and  even  thrust  into  the  denser  parts  of  the  hedges  with 
my  staff;  but  still  I  found  no  one.  And  yet  I  knew  that 
I  was  being  followed  persistently,  step  by  step,  but  by 
whom,  and  for  what  reason.'' 

A  little  farther  on,  upon  one  side  of  the  way,  was  a  small 
wood  or  coppice,  and  now  I  made  towards  this,  keeping 
well  in  the  shadow  of  the  hedge.  The  trees  were  somewhat 
scattered,  but  the  underbrush  was  very  dense,  and  amongst 
this  I  hid  myself  where  I  could  watch  the  road,  and  waited. 
Minute  after  minute  elapsed,  and,  losing  patience,  I  was 
about  to  give  up  all  hope  of  thus  discovering  my  unknown 
pursuer,  when  a  stick  snapped  sharply  near  by,  and,  glanc- 
ing round,  I  thought  I  saw  a  head  vanish  behind  the  bole 
of  an  adjacent  tree;  wherefore  I  made  quickly  towards 
that  tree,  but  ere  I  reached  it,  a  man  stepped  out.  A  tall, 
loose-limbed  fellow  he  was,  clad  in  rough  clothes  (that 
somehow  had  about  them  a  vague  suggestion  of  ships  and 
the  sea),  and  with  a  moth-eaten,  fur  cap  crushed  down  upon 
his^ead.  His  face  gleamed  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  deep- 
suniken,  and  very  bright;    also,  I  noticed  that  one  hand 


lOO  The  Broad  Highway 

was  hidden  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  But  most  of  all,  I 
was  struck  by  the  extreme  pallor  of  his  face,  and  the  burn- 
ing brilliancy  of  his  eyes. 

And,  with  the  glance  that  showed  me  all  this,  I  recognized 
the  Outside  Passenger. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

HOW    I    TALKED    WITH    A    MADMAN    IN    A    WOOD 
BY    MOONLIGHT 

"  Good  evening,  sir !  "  he  said,  in  a  strange,  hurried  sort 
of  way,  "  the  moon,  you  will  perceive,  is  very  nearly  at  the 
full  to-night."  And  his  voice,  immediately,  struck  me  as 
being  at  odds  with  his  clothes. 

"  Why  do  you  stand  and  peer  at  me .''  "  said  I  sharply. 

"  Peer  at  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  from  behind  the  tree,  yonder."  As  I  spoke,  he 
craned  his  head  towards  me,  and  I  saw  his  pale  lips  twitch 
suddenly.  "  And  why  have  you  dogged  me ;  why  have 
you  followed  me  all  the  way  from  Tonbridge.'*  " 

"  Why,  sir,  surely  there  is  nothing  so  strange  in  that. 
I  am  a  shadow." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  a  shadow  ' .''  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  shadow  cast  by  neither  sun,  nor  moon,  nor 
star,  that  moves  on  unceasingly  in  dark  as  in  light.  Sir, 
it  is  my  fate  (in  common  with  my  kind),  to  be  ever  upon 
the  move  —  a  stranger  everywhere  without  friends  or  kin- 
dred. I  have  been,  during  the  past  year,  all  over  England, 
east,  and  west,  and  north,  and  south ;  within  the  past  week, 
for  instance,  I  have  travelled  from  London  to  Epsom, 
from  Epsom  to  Brighton,  from  Brighton  back  again  to 
London,  and  from  London  here.  And  I  peer  at  you,  sir, 
because  I  wished  to  make  certain  what  manner  of  man  you 
were  before  I  spoke,  and  though  the  moon  is  bright,  yet 
your  hat-brim  left  your  face  in  shade." 

"  Well,  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 


I02  The  Broad  Highway 

"  So  much  so,  sir,  so  very  much  so,  that  I  should  like  to 
talk  with  you,  to  —  to  ask  you  a  question,"  he  answered, 
passing  his  hand  —  a  thin,  white  hand  —  across  his  brow, 
and  up  over  the  fur  cap  that  was  so  out  of  keeping  with 
the  pale  face  below. 

"  A  question?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  obliging  as  to  listen,  sir ;  let  us  sit 
awhile,  for  I  am  very  weary."  And  with  the  words  he 
sank  down  upon  the  grass.  After  a  momentary  hesitation, 
I  followed  his  example,  for  my  curiosity  was  piqued  by  the 
fellow's  strange  manner;  yet,  when  we  were  sitting  oppo- 
site each  other,  I  saw  that  his  hand  was  still  hidden  in  the 
pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  said  he,  in  his  nervous,  hurried  man- 
ner, "  perhaps  you  would  be  better  able  to  answer  my 
question  were  I  first  to  tell  you  a  story  —  an  ordinary,  a 
very  commonplace  one,  I  fear,  but  with  the  virtue  that  it  is 
short,  and  soon  told." 

"  My  time  is  entirely  my  own,"  said  I,  leaning  with  my 
shoulders  against  the  tree  behind  me ;  "  proceed  with  your 
story." 

"  First,  then,  my  name  is  Strickland  —  John  Strick- 
land !  " 

Here  he  paused,  and,  though  his  head  was  bent,  I  saw 
him  watching  me  beneath  his  brows. 

"  Well?  "  said  I. 

"  I  am  a  supercargo." 

Again  he  paused  expectantly,  but  seeing  I  merely 
nodded,  he  continued: 

"  Upon  one  of  my  voyages,  our  vessel  was  wrecked,  and, 
so  far  as  I  know,  all  save  myself  and  six  others  —  four 
seamen  and  two  passengers  —  were  drowned.  The  pas- 
sengers I  speak  of  were  an  old  merchant  —  and  his  daugh- 
ter, a  very  beautiful  girl ;  her  name  was  —  Angela,  sir." 

Once  again  he  paused  and  again  he  eyed  me  narrowly. 

"Well?  "said  I. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  resumed,  speaking  in  a  low,  repressed 
voice,  "  we  seven,  after  two  miserable  days  In  a  drifting 


I  Talked  with  a  Madman  in  a  Wood  103 

boat,  reached  an  island  where,  that  same  night,  the  old 
merchant  died.  Sir,  the  sailors  were  wild,  rough  men ;  the 
island  was  a  desolate  one  from  whence  there  was  seemingly 
no  chance  of  escape,  it  lying  out  of  the  usual  track  of 
ships,  and  this  girl  was,  as  I  have  said,  very  beautiful. 
Under  such  conditions  her  fate  would  have  been  unspeak- 
able degradation,  and  probably  death ;  but,  sir,  I  fought 
and  bled  for  her,  not  once  but  many  times,  and  eventually 
I  killed  one  of  them  with  my  sheath-knife,  and  I  remember, 
to  this  hour,  how  his  blood  gushed  over  my  hands  and 
arms,  and  sickened  me.  After  that  they  waited  hourly  to 
avenge  his  death,  and  get  me  out  of  their  way  once  and  for 
all,  but  I  had  my  long  knife,  and  they  but  such  rude 
weapons  as  they  could  devise.  Day  after  day,  and  night 
after  night,  I  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  escape  with 
the  boat,  until  at  last,  one  day  while  they  were  all  three 
gone  inland,  not  dreaming  of  any  such  attempt,  for  the 
sea  was  very  dangerous  and  high,  with  the  girl's  help  I 
managed  to  launch  the  boat,  and  so  stood  out  to  sea.  And 
I  remember  those  three  sailors  came  running  with  great 
shouts  and  cries,  and  flung  themselves  down  upon  the 
beach,  and  crawled  upon  their  knees,  praying  to  be  taken 
off  along  with  us,  and  begging  us  not  to  leave  them  to 
perish.  After  three  days'  buffeting  at  the  mercy  of  the 
seas,  we  were  picked  up  by  a  brig  bound  for  Portsmouth, 
and,  six  months  later,  were  in  England.  Sir,  it  is  impos- 
sible for  a  man  to  have  lived  beside  a  beautiful  woman 
day  by  day,  to  have  fought  for  and  suffered  with  her,  not 
to  love  her  also.  Thus,  seeing  her  friendless  and  penni- 
less, I  wooed  and  won  her  to  wife.  We  came  to  London, 
and  for  a  year  our  life  was  perfect,  until,  through  stress 
of  circumstances,  I  was  forced  to  take  another  position 
aboard  ship.  Well,  sir,  I  bade  farewell  to  my  wife,  and 
we  set  sail.  The  voyage,  which  was  to  have  lasted  but 
three  months,  was  lengthened  out  through  one  misadven- 
ture after  another,  so  that  it  was  a  year  before  I  saw  my 
wife  again.  At  first  I  noticed  little  difference  in  her  save 
that  she  was  paler,  but,  gradually,  I  came  to  see  that  she 


I04  The  Broad  Highway 

was  unhappy.  Often  I  have  wakened  in  the  night  to  find 
her  weeping  silently. 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  he  broke  out,  "  I  do  not  think  there  is  any- 
thing more  terrible  than  to  witness  in  one  we  love  a  sorrow 
we  are  unable  to  reach !  "  Here  he  paused,  and  I  saw  that 
the  sweat  stood  out  upon  his  brow,  and  that  his  hand  was 
tight  clenched  as  he  drew  it  across  his  temples.  "  At  last, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  speaking  once  more  in  a  low,  repressed 
tone,  "  returning  home  one  day,  I  found  her  —  gone." 

"Gone?"  said  I. 

"  Gone,  sir." 

"And  she  left  no  trace  —  no  letter ?" 

"  No,  she  left  no  letter,  sir,  but  I  did  find  something  — 
a  something  that  had  rolled  into  a  corner  of  the  room." 

"  And  what  was  that  ?  " 

"  This,  sir !  "  As  he  spoke,  his  burning  eyes  never  leav- 
ing mine,  he  thrust  a  hand  into  his  bosom  —  his  left  hand, 
for  his  right  was  where  it  had  been  all  along,  hidden  in  his 
pocket  —  and  held  out  to  me  a  gold  seal  such  as  gentlemen 
wear  at  their  fobs. 

"  Ah !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Take  it !  "  said  the  man,  thrusting  it  towards  me ; 
"  look  at  it !  "  Obediently  I  took  the  trinket  from  him, 
and,  examining  it  as  well  as  I  might,  saw  that  a  letter  was 
engraved  upon  it,  one  of  those  ornamental  initials  sur- 
rounded by  rococo  scrolls  and  flourishes. 

"  What  letter  does  it  bear  ?  "  asked  the  man  in  a  stran- 
gled voice. 

"  It  looks  very  like  the  letter  '  Y,'  "  I  answered 

"  The  letter  *  Y  ' !  "  cried  the  man,  and  then,  with  a  ges- 
ture sudden  and  fierce,  he  snatched  the  seal  from  me,  and, 
thrusting  it  back  into  his  bosom,  laughed  strangely. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  .^  "  said  I. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  he  harshly,  "  the  light  might  be 
better,  and  yet  —  well !  well !  my  story  is  nearly  done. 
I  lived  on  in  my  lonely  house  from  day  to  day,  and  month 
to  month,  hoping  and  waiting  for  her  to  come  back  to  me. 
And  one  day  she  did  come  back  to  me  —  just  about  this 


I  Talked  with  a  Madman  in  a  Wood  105 

hour  it  was,  sir,  and  on  just  such  another  evening;  and 
that  same  night  —  she  died." 

"  Good  God !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Poor  fellow !  "  And,  lean- 
ing forward,  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  knee,  but,  at  my 
touch,  he  drew  back  so  quickly,  and  with  a  look  so  evil, 
that  I  was  startled. 

"  Hands  off !  "  said  he,  and  so  sat  staring  at  me  with  his 
smouldering  eyes. 

"  Are  you  mad.''  "  said  I,  and  sprang  to  my  feet. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  answered,  and  once  again  he  passed  his 
hand  up,  and  over  his  face  and  brow ;  "  no,  not  yet,  sir." 
Here  he  rose,  and  stood  facing  me,  and  I  noticed  that  one 
hand  was  still  hidden  in  his  pocket,  and,  thereafter,  while 
I  listened  to  him,  I  kept  my  eyes  directed  thither,  "  That 
night  —  before  she  —  died,  sir,"  he  continued,  "  she  told 
me  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  destroyed  her,  and  killed 
my  soul ;  and  I  have  been  searching  for  him  ever  since  — 
east,  and  west,  and  north,  and  south.  Now,  sir,  here  is  my 
question:  If  I  should  ever  meet  that  man  face  to  face,  as 
I  now  see  you,  should  I  not  be  justified  in  —  killing  him.''  " 

For  a  moment  I  stood  with  bent  head,  yet  conscious  all 
the  while  of  the  burning  eyes  that  scanned  my  face,  then : 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

The  man  stood  utterly  still,  his  mouth  opened  as  if  he 
would  have  spoken,  but  no  word  came.  All  at  once  he 
turned  about,  and  walked  unsteadily  five  or  six  paces. 
Now,  as  I  looked,  I  saw  him  suddenly  draw  his  hand  from 
his  pocket,  then,  as  he  wheeled,  I  knew,  and  hurled  myself 
face  downward  as  the  pistol  flashed. 

"  Madman !  "  I  cried,  and  next  moment  was  on  my  feet ; 
but,  with  a  sound  that  was  neither  a  groan  nor  a  scream, 
and  yet  something  of  both,  he  leapt  into  the  thickest  part 
of  the  underbrush,  and  made  off.  And  standing  there, 
dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  it  all,  I  heard  the  snapping  of 
twigs  grow  fainter  and  fainter  as  he  crashed  through  in 
headlong  flight. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 


THE    HEDGE-TAVEEN 


Twigs  whipped  my  face,  thorns  and  brambles  dragged  at 
my  clothes,  hidden  obstacles  lay  in  wait  for  my  feet,  for 
the  wood  grew  denser  as  I  advanced,  but  I  pushed  on,  heed- 
less alike  of  these  and  of  what  direction  I  took.  But,  as 
luck  would  have  it,  I  presently  blundered  upon  a  path 
which,  in  a  short  time,  brought  me  out  very  suddenly  into 
what  appeared  to  be  a  small  tavern  yard,  for  on  either 
hand  was  a  row  of  tumble-down  stables  and  barns,  while 
before  me  was  a  low,  rambling  structure  which  I  judged 
was  the  tavern  itself.  I  was  yet  standing  looking  about 
me  when  a  man  issued  from  the  stables  upon  my  right, 
bearing  a  hammer  in  one  hand  and  a  lanthorn  in  the 
other. 

"  Hallo !  "  said  he,  staring  at  me. 

"  Hallo !  "  said  I,  staring  at  him. 

"  You  don't  chance  to  'ave  a  axle-bolt  about  you,  I 
suppose .?  *' 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Humph !  "  he  grunted,  and,  lowering  his  lanthorn, 
began  searching  among  the  cobblestones. 

"  Is  this  it.''  "  I  inquired,  picking  up  a  rusty  screw-bolt 
at  my  feet. 

"  Ah !  "  said  he,  taking  it  from  me  with  a  nod,  "  know'd 
I  dropped  it  'ere  some'eres.  Ye  see,"  he  went  on,  "  could  n't 
get  another  round  'ere  to-night,  and  that  cussed  axle  's  got 
to  be  in  place  to-morra." 

"Yes.?  "said  I. 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  man,  "  chaise  come  in  'ere  'arf-an- 


The  Hedge-Tavern  107 

hour  ago  wi'  two  gentlemen  and  a  lady,  in  the  Lord's  own 
'urry  too.  *  Mend  this  axle,  me  man,'  says  one  on  'em  — 
a  top-sawyer  be  the  looks  on  'im  — '  mend  this  axle,  and 
quick  about  it.'  '  Can't  be  done,  my  lord,'  says  I.  '  W'y 
not?  '  says  'e,  showin'  'is  teeth  savage-like.  '  Because  it 
can't,'  says  I,  '  not  no'ow,  me  lord,'  says  I.  Well,  after 
cussin'  'isself  well-nigh  black  in  the  face,  'e  orders  me  to 
'ave  it  ready  fust  thing  to-morra,  and  if  you  'ad  n't  found 
that  there  bolt  for  me  it  would  n't  'ave  been  ready  fust 
thing  to-morra,  which  would  ha'  been  mighty  bad  for  me, 
for  this  'ere  gentleman  's  a  fire-and-fury  out-and-outer, 
and  no  error." 

"  Can  I  have  a  bed  here,  do  you  think  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  can." 

*'  For  how  much,  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  To  you  —  sixpence." 

"  Why,  that  seems  reasonable,"  said  I. 

"  It  are,"  nodded  the  man,  "  and  a  fine  feather  bed  too ! 
But  then.  Lord,  one  good  turn  deserves  another " 

"  Meaning?  " 

"  This  'ere  bolt." 

"  Are  you  the  landlord,  then  ?  " 

"  I  be ;  and  if  you  feel  inclined  for  a  mug  o'  good  ale  — 
say  the  word." 

"  Most  willingly,"  said  I,  "  but  what  of  the  axle?  " 

"  Plenty  o'  time  for  th'  axle,"  nodded  the  landlord,  and 
setting  down  his  hammer  upon  a  bench  hard  by,  he  led  the 
way  into  the  tap.  The  ale  was  very  strong  and  good : 
indeed  this  lovely  county  of  Kent  is  justly  famous  for  such. 
Finding  myself  very  hungry,  the  landlord  forthwith  pro- 
duced a  mighty  round  of  beef,  upon  which  we  both  fell  to, 
and  ate  with  a  will.  Which  done,  I  pulled  out  my  negro- 
head  pipe,  and  the  landlord  fetching  himself  another,  we 
sat  awhile  smoking.  And  presently,  learning  I  was  from 
London,  he  began  plying  me  with  all  manner  of  questions 
concerning  the  great  city,  of  which  it  seemed  he  could  not 
hear  enough,  and  I,  to  describe  its  wonders  as  well  as 
I  might.     At  length,  bethinking  him  of  his  axle,  he  rose 


io8  The  Broad  Highway 

Avith  a  sigh.  Upon  my  requesting  to  be  shown  my  room, 
he  lighted  a  candle,  and  led  the  way  up  a  somewhat  rickety 
stair,  along  a  narrow  passage,  and  throwing  open  a  door 
at  the  end,  I  found  myself  in  a  fair-sized  chamber  with  a 
decent  white  bed,  which  he  introduced  to  my  notice  by  the 
one  word,  "  feathers."  Hereupon  he  pinched  off  the 
snuff  of  the  candle  with  an  expression  of  ponderous 
thought. 

"  And  so  the  Tower  o'  London  ain't  a  tower  ?  "  he  in- 
quired at  last. 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  it  is  composed  of  several  towers 
surrounded  by  very  strong,  battlemented  walls." 

"  Ah  —  to  —  be  —  sure,"  said  he,  "  ah,  to  be  sure ! 
And  me  'ave  alius  thought  on  it  like  it  was  a  great  big  tower 
standin'  in  the  midst  o'  the  city,  as  'igh  as  a  mountain. 
Humph  —  not  a  tower  —  ha !  disapp'inted  I  be.  Humph  ! 
Good  night,  master.  Disapp'inted  I  be  —  yes."  And 
having  nodded  his  head  ponderously  several  times,  he 
turned  and  went  ponderously  along  the  passage  and  down 
the  stair. 

At  the  end  of  my  chamber  was  a  long,  low  casement,  and, 
drawn  thither  by  the  beauty  of  the  night,  I  flung  open  the 
lattice  and  leaned  out.  I  looked  down  upon  a  narrow, 
deeply-rutted  lane,  one  of  those  winding,  inconsequent 
byways  which  it  seems  out  of  all  possibility  can  ever  lead 
the  traveler  anywhere,  and  I  was  idly  wondering  what  fool 
had  troubled  to  build  a  tavern  in  such  a  remote,  out-of- 
the-way  spot,  when  my  ears  were  saluted  by  the  sound  of 
voices.  Now,  immediately  beneath  my  window  there  was  a 
heavy  porch,  low  and  squat,  from  which  jutted  a  beam  with 
a  broken  sign-board,  and  it  was  from  beneath  this  porch 
that  the  voices  proceeded,  the  one  loud  and  hectoring,  the 
other  gruff  and  sullen.  I  was  about  to  turn  away  when  a 
man  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight.  His  face  was  hidden 
in  the  shadow  of  his  hat-brim,  but  from  his  general  air  and 
appearance  I  judged  him  to  be  one  of  the  gentlemen  whose 
chaise  had  broken  down.  As  I  watched  him  he  walked 
slowly  round  the  angle  of  the  house  and  disappeared.     In 


The  Hedge-Tavern  109 

a  little  while,  I  drew  in  my  head  from  the  casement,  and, 
having  removed  my  dusty  boots,  together  with  my  knap- 
sack and  coat,  blew  out  the  candle,  and  composed  myself 
to  sleep. 

Now  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  back  upon  the  road, 
standing  once  more  beside  the  great  oak-tree.  And,  as 
I  watched,  a  small,  hunched  figure  crept  from  the  jagged 
opening  in  the  trunk,  a  figure  with  a  jingling  pack  upon 
its  back,  at  sight  of  which  I  turned  and  ran,  filled  with  an 
indescribable  terror.  But,  as  I  went,  the  Tinker's  pack 
jingled  loud  behind  me,  and  when  I  glanced  back,  I  saw 
that  he  ran  with  head  dangling  in  most  hideous  fashion, 
and  that  his  right  hand  grasped  a  razor.  On  I  sped  faster 
and  faster,  but  with  the  Tinker  ever  at  my  heels,  until  I 
had  reached  this  tavern;  the  door  crashed  to,  behind  me, 
only  just  in  time,  and  I  knew,  as  I  lay  there,  that  he  was 
standing  outside,  in  the  moonlight,  staring  up  at  my  case- 
ment with  his  horrible,  dead  face. 

Here  I  very  mercifully  awoke,  and  lay,  for  a  while,  blink- 
ing in  the  ghostly  radiance  of  the  moon,  which  was  flooding 
in  at  the  window  directly  upon  me.  Now  whether  it  was 
owing  to  the  vividness  of  my  dream,  I  know  not,  but  as 
I  lay,  there  leapt  up  within  me  a  sudden  conviction  that 
somebody  was  indeed  standing  outside  in  the  lane,  staring 
up  at  my  window.  So  firmly  was  I  convinced  of  this  that, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  I  rose,  and,  cautiously  ap- 
proaching the  window,  peered  out.  And  there,  sure 
enough,  his  feet  planted  wide  apart,  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  stood  a  man  staring  up  at  my  window.  His  head 
was  thrown  back  so  that  I  could  see  his  face  distinctly  — 
a  fleshy  face  with  small,  close-set  eyes  and  thick  lips,  behind 
which  I  caught  the  gleam  of  big,  white  teeth.  This  was  no 
tinker,  but  as  I  looked,  I  recognized  him  as  the  slenderer 
of  the  two  "  Corinthians  "  with  whom  I  had  fallen  out  at 
"  The  Chequers."  Hereupon  I  got  me  back  to  bed, 
drowsily  wondering  what  should  bring  the  fellow  hanging 
about  a  dilapidated  hedge-tavern  at  such  an  hour.  But 
gradually  my  thoughts  grew  less  coherent,  my  eyes  closed. 


no  The  Broad  Highway 

and  in  another  moment  I  should  have  been  asleep,  when  I 
suddenly  came  to  my  elbow,  broad  awake  and  listening,  for 
I  had  heard  two  sounds,  the  soft  creak  of  a  window  opened 
cautiously  near  by,  and  a  stealthy  footstep  outside  my 
door. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

IN    WHICH    I    BECOME    A    SQUIRE    OF    DAMES 

Who  does  not  recognize  the  solemn  majesty  of  Night  — 
that  season  of  awesome  stilhiess  when  tired  mankind  lies 
supine  in  that  strange  inertia  so  like  death ;  when  the  soul, 
quitting  the  wearied  body  for  a  space,  flies  hence  —  but 
whither  ? 

What  wonder  is  it  if,  at  such  an  hour  as  this,  we  are 
prone  to  magnify  trifles,  or  that  the  most  insignificant 
thing  becomes  an  omen  full  of  ghastly  meaning  and  pos- 
sibilities? The  creak  of  a  door  in  the  silence,  a  rustle  in 
the  dark,  become  to  us  of  infinitely  greater  moment  than 
the  crash  of  falling  empires. 

Thus,  for  a  space,  I  lay,  with  ears  on  the  stretch,  and 
every  nerve  tingling,  waiting  for  —  I  knew  not  what. 

In  a  little,  I  became  conscious  of  yet  another  sound, 
indescribably  desolate:  the  low,  repressed  sound  of  a 
woman's  sobbing. 

Once  more  I  rose,  and  looking  down  into  the  lane,  found 
it  deserted;  the  watcher  had  vanished.  I  also  noticed 
that  the  casement  next  to  mine  had  been  opened  wide, 
and  it  was  from  here,  as  it  seemed,  that  the  weeping 
proceeded. 

After  some  little  hesitation,  I  knocked  softly  upon  the 
wall,  at  which  the  weeping  was  checked  abruptly,  save  for 
an  occasional  sob,  whereupon  I  presently  rapped  again. 
At  this,  after  a  moment  or  so,  I  saw  a  very  small,  white 
hand  appear  at  tlie  neighboring  window,  and  next  moment 
was  looking  into  a  lovely,  flushed  face  framed  in  bright 
hair,  with  eyes  woefully  swelled  by  tears  —  but  a  glance 


112  The  Broad  Highway 

showed  me  that  she  was  young,  and  of  a  rare  and  gentle 
beauty. 

Before  I  could  speak,  she  laid  her  finger  upon  her  lip 
with  a  warning  gesture. 

"  Help  me  —  oh,  help  me !  "  she  whispered  hurriedly : 
"  they  have  locked  me  in  here,  and  I  dare  not  go  to  bed, 
and  —  and  —  oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Locked  you  in  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  "  she  sobbed.  "  I  tell  you  I  am 
afraid  of  him  —  his  hateful,  wicked  eyes  !  "  Here  a  tremor 
seemed  to  shake  her,  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  "  To-night,  when  I  found  the  key  gone  from  the 
door,  and  remembered  his  look  as  he  bade  me  '  Good  night,' 
I  thought  I  should  have  died.  I  waited  here,  close  beside 
the  window  —  listening,  listening.  Once  I  thought  I  heard 
a  step  outside  my  door,  and  opened  the  casement  to 
throw  myself  out ;  he  shall  not  find  me  here  when  he 
comes." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "he  shall  not  find  you  here  when  he 
comes." 

All  this  she  had  imparted  to  me  in  broken  whispers,  and 
with  her  face  still  hidden,  but,  at  my  words,  she  peeped  at 
me  through  her  fingers. 

"  You  mean.''  " 

"  You  must  run  away." 

"  But  the  door  is  locked." 

"  There  remains  the  window." 

"  The  window !  "  she  repeated,  trembling. 

"  You  would  find  it  easy  enough  with  my  help." 

"  Quick,  then !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Wait,"  said  I,  and  turned  back  into  my  room.  Here- 
upon i  having  locked  the  door,  I  got  into  my  boots,  slipped 
on  my  coat  and  knapsack,  and,  last  of  all,  threw  my  black- 
thorn staff  out  of  the  window  (where  I  was  sure  of  finding 
it)  and  climbed  out  after  it. 

The  porch  I  have  mentioned,  upon  which  I  now  stood, 
sloped  steeply  down  upon  two  sides,  so  that  I  had  no  little 
difficulty  in  maintaining  my  foothold;    on  the  other  hand. 


I  Become  a  Squire  of  Dames      113 

it  was  no  great  distance  from  the  ground,  and  I  thought 
that  it  would  be  easy  enough  of  descent. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  reappeared  at  the  lattice. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  whispered,  struck  by  the  terror  in  her 
face. 

"  Quick !  "  she  cried,  forgetting  all  prudence  in  her  fear, 
"  quick  —  they  are  coming  —  I  hear  some  one  upon  the 
stair.  Oh,  you  are  too  late !  "  and,  sinking  upon  her  knees, 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Without  more  ado  I 
swung  myself  up,  and  clambered  over  the  sill  into  the  room 
beside  her.  I  was  looking  round  for  something  that  might 
serve  me  for  a  weapon,  when  my  eye  encountered  a  tall  oak 
press,  a  heavy,  cumbersome  affair,  but,  save  the  bed,  the 
only  furniture  the  room  possessed.  Setting  my  shoulder 
to  it  therefore,  I  began  to  urge  it  towards  the  door.  But 
it  was  soon  apparent  that  I  could  not  get  it  there  in  time, 
for  the  creeping  footstep  was  already  close  outside,  and, 
next  moment,  a  key  was  softly  inserted  in  the  lock. 

"  Quick !  hide  yourself !  "  I  whispered,  over  my  shoul- 
der, and,  stepping  back  from  the  door  to  give  myself  room, 
I  clenched  my  fists.  There  was  a  faint  creak  as  the  key 
turned,  the  door  was  opened  cautiously,  and  a  man's  dim 
figure  loomed  upon  the  threshold. 

He  had  advanced  two  or  three  paces  on  tiptoe  before  he 
discovered  my  presence,  for  the  room  was  in  shadow,  and 
I  heard  his  breath  catch,  suddenly,  and  hiss  between  his 
teeth;  then,  without  a  word,  he  sprang  at  me.  But  as  he 
came,  I  leapt  aside,  and  my  fist  took  him  full  and  squarely 
beneath  the  ear.  He  pitched  sideways,  and,  falling  heavily, 
rolled  over  upon  his  back,  and  lay  still. 

As  I  leaned  above  him,  however  (for  the  blow  had  been 
a  heavy  one),  he  uttered  a  groaning  oath,  whereupon, 
pinning  him  forthwith  by  the  collar,  I  dragged  him  out 
into  the  passage,  and,  whipping  the  key  from  the  lock, 
transferred  it  to  the  inside  and  locked  the  door.  Waiting 
for  no  more,  I  scrambled  back  through  the  casement,  and 
reached  up  my  hand  to  the  lady. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  and  (almost  as  quickly  as  it  takes  to 


114  The  Broad  Highway 

set  it  down  here)  she  was  beside  me  upon  the  roof  of  the 
porch,  clinging  to  my  arm.  Exactly  how  it  was  managed 
I  am  unable  to  say;  all  that  I  remember  being  the  vision 
of  a  slender  foot  and  ankle,  and  an  excellently  shaped 
leg. 

Our  farther  descent  to  the  ground  proved  much  more 
difficult  than  I  had  supposed,  but,  though  I  could  feel  her 
trembling,  my  companion  obeyed  my  whispered  instruc- 
tions, and  yielded  herself  implicitly  to  my  guidance,  so 
that  we  were  soon  standing  in  the  lane  before  the  house, 
safe  and  sound  except  for  a  few  rents  to  our  garments. 

"  What  is  it.P  "  she  whispered,  seeing  me  searching  about 
in  the  grass. 

"  My  staff,"  said  I,  "  a  faithful  friend ;  I  would  not 
lose  it." 

"  But  they  will  be  here  in  a  minute  —  we  shall  be  seen." 

"  I  cannot  lose  my  staff,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  hurry !  hurry !  "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 
And,  in  a  little  while,  having  found  my  staff,  we  turned  our 
backs  upon  the  tavern  and  began  to  run  up  the  lane,  side 
by  side.  As  we  went,  came  the  slam  of  a  door  behind  us  — 
a  sudden  clamor  of  voices,  followed,  a  moment  later,  by 
the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol,  and,  in  that  same  fraction  of 
time,  I  stumbled  over  some  unseen  obstacle,  and  my  hat 
was  whisked  from  my  head. 

"  Are  you  hurt.''  "  panted  my  companion. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  but  it  was  a  very  excellent  shot  never- 
theless !  "  For,  as  I  picked  up  my  hat,  I  saw  a  small  round 
hole  that  pierced  it  through  and  through,  midway  between 
crown  and  brim. 

The  lane  wound  away  between  high  hedges,  which  ren- 
dered our  going  very  dark,  for  the  moon  was  getting  low, 
and  difficult  by  reason  of  the  deep  wheel-ruts ;  but  we 
hurried  forward  notwithstanding,  urged  on  by  the  noise  of 
the  chase.  We  had  traversed  some  half  mile  thus,  when 
my  ears  warned  me  that  our  pursuers  were  gaining  upon 
us,  and  I  was  inwardly  congratulating  myself  that  I  had 
stopped  to  find  my  staff,  and  wondering  how  much  exe- 


I  Become  a  Squire  of  Dames      115 

cution  such  a  weapon  might  reasonably  be  capable  of,  when 
I  found  that  my  companion  was  no  longer  at  my  side.  As 
I  paused,  irresolute,  her  voice  reached  me  from  the  shadow 
of  the  hedge. 

"  This  way,"  she  panted. 

"Where.?"  said  I. 

"  Here !  "  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  hand  slipped  into  mine, 
and  so  she  led  me  through  a  small  gate,  into  a  broad,  open 
meadow  beyond.  But  to  attempt  crossing  this  would  be 
little  short  of  madness,  for  (as  I  pointed  out)  we  could 
not  go  a  yard  without  being  seen. 

"  No,  no,"  she  returned,  her  breath  still  laboring,  "  wait 
—  wait  till  they  are  past."  And  so,  hand  in  hand,  we  stood 
there  in  the  shadow,  screened  very  effectively  from  the  lane 
by  the  thick  hedge,  while  the  rush  of  our  pursuers'  feet 
drew  nearer  and  nearer;  until  we  could  hear  a  voice  that 
panted  out  curses  upon  the  dark  lane,  ourselves,  and  every- 
thing concerned;  at  sound  of  which  my  companion  seemed 
to  fall  into  a  shivering  fit,  her  clasp  tightened  upon  my 
hand,  and  she  drew  closer  to  me.  Thus  we  remained  until 
voices  and  footsteps  had  grown  faint  with  distance,  but, 
even  then,  I  could  feel  that  she  was  trembling  still.  Sud- 
denly she  drew  her  fingers  from  mine,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  that  man ! "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  whisper,  "  I 
did  n't  quite  realize  till  now  —  what  I  have  escaped.  Oh, 
that  beast ! " 

"  Sir  Harry  Mortimer.?  "  said  I. 

"  You  know  him?  "  she  cried. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  I  answered,  "  but  I  have  seen  him 
once  before  at  *  The  Chequers  '  inn  at  Tonbridge,  and  I 
never  forget  names  or  faces  —  especially  such  as  his." 

"  How  I  hate  him !  "  she  whispered. 

"  An  unpleasant  animal,  to  be  sure,"  said  I.  "  But  come, 
it  were  wiser  to  get  as  far  from  here  as  possible,  they  will 
doubtless  be  returning  soon." 

So  we  started  off  again,  running  in  the  shadow  of  the 
hedge.    We  had  thus  doubled  back  upon  our  pursuers,  and, 


ii6  The  Broad  Highway 

leaving  the  tavern  upon  our  left,  soon  gained  the  kindly 
shadow  of  those  woods  through  which  I  had  passed  in  the 
early  evening. 

Borne  to  us  upon  the  gentle  wind  was  the  haunting 
perfume  of  hidden  flowers,  and  the  sinking  moon  sent  long 
shafts  of  silvery  light  to  pierce  the  leafy  gloom,  and  make 
the  shadows  more  mysterious. 

The  path  we  followed  was  very  narrow,  so  that  some- 
times my  companion's  knee  touched  mine,  or  her  long, 
silken  hair  brushed  my  brow  or  cheek,  as  I  stooped  to  lift 
some  trailing  branch  that  barred  her  way,  or  open  a  path 
for  her  through  the  leaves. 

So  we  journeyed  on  through  the  mysteries  of  the  wood* 
together. 


CHAPTER    XX 

CONCEENING    DEMONS    IN    GENERAL,    AND    ONE    IN 
PARTICULAE 

In  certain  old  books  you  shall  find  strange  mention  of 
witches,  warlocks,  succubae,  spirits,  daemons,  and  a  thousand 
other  powers  of  darkness,  whose  pronounced  vocation  was 
the  plague  of  poor  humanity.  Within  these  books  you  may 
read  (if  you  will)  divers  wondrous  accounts,  together  with 
many  learned  disquisitions  upon  the  same,  and  most  minute 
and  particular  descriptions  of  witch-marks  and  the  like. 

Aforetime,  when  a  man  committed  some  great  offence 
against  laws  human  or  divine,  he  was  said  to  be  possessed 
of  a  daemon  —  that  is  to  say,  he  became  the  medium  and 
instrument  through,  and  by  which,  the  evil  was  wrought; 
thus,  when  in  due  season  he  came  to  be  hanged,  tortured, 
or  burned,  it  was  inflicted  not  so  much  as  a  punishment 
upon  him,  the  man,  as  to  exorcise,  once  and  for  all,  the 
devil  which  possessed  him. 

In  these  material,  common-sense  days,  we  are  wont  to 
smile  the  superior  smile  at  the  dark  superstitions  and  de- 
plorable ignorance  of  our  forefathers ;  yet  life  is  much  the 
same  now  as  then,  the  devil  goeth  up  and  down  in  the 
world,  spirits,  daemons,  and  the  thousand  powers  of  dark- 
ness abide  with  us  still,  though  to-day  they  go  by  different 
names,  for  there  is  no  man  in  this  smug,  complacent  age 
of  ours,  but  carries  within  him  a  power  of  evil  greater  or 
less,  according  to  his  intellect.  Scratch  off  the  social 
veneer,  lift  but  a  corner  of  the  very  decent  cloak  of  our 
civilization,  and  behold !  there  stands  the  Primal  Man  in  all 


1 1 8  The  Broad  Highway 

his  old,  wild  savagery,  and  with  the  devil  leering  upon  his 
shoulder.  Indeed,  to-day  as  surely  as  in  the  dim  past,  we 
are  all  possessed  of  a  devil  great  or  small,  weaker  or 
stronger  as  the  case  may  be;  a  daemon  which,  though  he 
sometimes  seems  to  slumber,  is  yet  watchful  and  ever  ready 
to  spring  up  and  possess  us,  to  the  undoing  of  ourselves 
and  others. 

Thus,  as  I  followed  my  companion  through  the  wood, 
I  was  conscious  of  a  Dsemon  that  ran  beside  me,  leaping 
and  gambolling  at  my  elbow,  though  I  kept  my  eyes 
straight  before  me.  Anon,  his  clutching  fingers  were  upon 
my  arm,  and  fain  I  would  have  shaken  him  off,  but  could 
not ;  while,  as  I  watched  the  swing  and  grace  of  the  lithe, 
feminine  body  before  me,  from  the  little  foot  to  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  her  hair,  she  seemed  a  thousand  times  more 
beautiful  than  I  had  supposed.  And  I  had  saved  her  to- 
night—  from  what?  There  had  been  the  fear  of  worse 
than  death  in  her  eyes  when  that  step  had  sounded  outside 
her  chamber  door.  Hereupon,  as  I  walked,  I  began  to 
recall  much  that  I  had  read  in  the  old  romances  of  the  grat- 
itude of  rescued  ladies. 

"  Truly,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  in  olden  days  a  lady  well 
knew  how  to  reward  her  rescuer !  " 

"  Woman  is  woman  —  the  same  to-day  as  then  —  try 
her,  try  her!  "  chuckled  the  Damon.  And  now,  as  I  looked 
more  fully  at  this  Daemon,  he  seemed  no  daemon  at  all,  but 
rather,  a  jovial  companion  who  nodded,  and  winked,  and 
nudged  me  slyly  with  his  elbow.  "  What  are  pretty  faces 
for  but  to  be  admired.'*"  said  he  in  my  ear;  "what  are 
slender  waists  for  but  to  be  pressed;  and  as  for  a  kiss  or 
two  in  a  dark  wood,  with  no  one  to  spy  —  they  like  it,  you 
dog,  they  like  it !  " 

So  we  traversed  the  alleys  of  the  wood,  now  in  shadow, 
now  in  moonlight,  the  Lady,  the  Daemon,  and  I,  and  always 
the  perfume  of  hidden  flowers  seemed  sweeter  and  stronger, 
the  gleam  of  her  hair  and  the  sway  of  her  body  the  more 
alluring,  and  always  the  voice  at  my  ear  whispered :  "  Try 
her,  you  dog,  try  her." 


Concerning  Daemons  119 

At  last,  being  come  to  a  broad,  grassy  glade,  the  lady 
paused,  and,  standing  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  dying 
moon,  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile  on  her  red  lips. 

"  They  can  never  find  us  now !  "  she  said. 

"  No,  they  can  never  find  us  now,"  I  repeated,  while  the 
Daemon  at  my  elbow  chuckled  again. 

"  And  —  oh,  sir !  I  can  never,  never  thank  you,"  she 
began. 

"  Don't,"  said  I,  not  looking  at  her ;  "  don't  thank  me 
till  —  we  are  out  of  the  wood." 

"  I  think,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "  that  you  — can  guess 
from  —  from  what  you  saved  me,  and  can  understand 
something  of  my  gratitude,  for  I  can  never  express  it  all." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  indeed  you  overestimate  my  service." 

"  You  risked  your  life  for  me,  sir,"  said  she,  her  eyes 
glistening,  "  surely  my  thanks  are  due  to  you  for  that.'' 
And  I  do  thank  you  —  from  my  heart !  "  And  with  a 
swift,  impulsive  gesture,  she  stretched  out  her  hands  to 
me.  For  a  brief  moment  I  hesitated,  then  seized  them,  and 
drew  her  close.  But,  even  as  I  stooped  above  her,  she  re- 
pulsed me  desperately;  her  loosened  hair  brushed  my 
eyes  and  lips  —  blinded,  maddened  me ;  my  hat  fell  off, 
and  all  at  once  her  struggles  ceased. 

"  Sir  Maurice  Vibart !  "  she  panted,  and  I  saw  a  hopeless 
terror  in  her  face.  But  the  Demon's  jovial  voice  chuckled 
in  my  ear: 

"  Ho,  Peter  Vibart,  act  up  to  your  cousin's  reputation ; 
who 's  to  know  the  difference.'' "  My  arms  tightened 
about  her,  then  I  loosed  her  suddenly,  and,  turning,  smote 
my  clenched  fist  against  a  tree;  which  done,  I  stooped  and 
picked  up  my  hat  and  blackthorn  staff. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  looking  down  upon  my  bleeding 
knuckles,  "  I  am  not  Sir  Maurice  Vibart.  It  seems  my 
fate  to  be  mistaken  for  him  wherever  I  go.  My  name  is 
Peter,  plain  and  unvarnished,  and  I  am  very  humbly  your 
servant."  Now  as  I  spoke,  it  seemed  that  the  Daemon,  no 
longer  the  jovial  companion,  was  himself  again,  horns, 
hoof,  and  tail  —  nay,  indeed,  he  seemed  a  thousand  times 


I20  The  Broad  Highway 

more  foul  and  hideous  than  before,  as  he  mouthed  and  jibed 
at  me  in  baffled  fury;  wherefore,  I  smiled  and  turned  my 
back  upon  him. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  extending  my  hand  to  the  trembling 
girl,  "  let  us  get  out  of  these  dismal  woods."  For  a  space 
she  hesitated,  looking  up  at  me  beneath  her  lashes,  then 
reached  out,  and  laid  her  fingers  in  mine ;  and,  as  we  turned 
away,  I  knew  that  tlie  Daemon  had  cast  himself  upon  the 
ground,  and  was  tearing  at  the  grass  in  a  paroxysm  of 
rage  and  bafflement. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  I,  after  we  had  gone  some  little  dis- 
tance, "  very  strange  that  you  should  only  have  discovered 
this  resemblance  here,  and  now,  for  surely  you  saw  my  face 
plainly  enough  at  the  inn." 

"  No ;   you  see,  I  hardly  looked  at  you." 

"  And,  now  that  you  do  look  at  me,  am  I  so  very  much 
like  Sir  Maurice.'*  " 

"  Not  now,"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head,  "  for 
though  you  are  of  his  height,  and  though  your  features 
are  much  the  same  as  his,  your  expression  is  different.  But 
a  moment  ago  —  when  your  hat  fell  off " 

"Yes.?  "said  I. 

"  Your  expression  —  your  face  looked " 

"  Demoniac?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"Yes.?"  said  I. 

So  we  went  upon  our  way,  nor  paused  until  we  had  left 
the  Daemon  and  the  dark  woods  behind  us.  Then  I  looked 
from  the  beauty  of  the  sweet,  pure  earth  to  the  beauty  of 
her  who  stood  beside  me,  and  I  saw  that  her  glance  rested 
upon  the  broken  knuckles  of  my  right  hand.  Meeting  my 
eyes,  her  own  drooped,  and  a  flush  crept  into  her  cheeks, 
and,  though  of  course  she  could  not  have  seen  the  Damon, 
yet  I  think  that  she  understood. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

"  JOUENEYS    END    IN    LOVEES'    MEETINGS  " 

The  moon  was  fast  sinking  below  the  treetops  to  our  left, 
what  time  we  reached  a  road,  or  rather  cart-track  that 
wound  away  up  a  hill.  Faint  and  far  a  church  clock  slowly 
chimed  the  hour  of  three,  the  solemn  notes  coming  sweet 
and  silvery  with  distance. 

"  What  chimes  are  those  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Cranbrook  Church." 

"  Is  it  far  to  Cranbrook  ?  " 

"  One  mile  this  way,  but  two  by  the  road  yonder." 

"  You  seem  very  well  acquainted  with  these  parts," 
said  I. 

"  I  have  lived  here  all  my  life ;  those  are  the  Cambourne 
Woods  over  there " 

"  Cambourne  Woods  !  "  said  I. 

"  Part  of  the  Sefton  estates,"  she  continued ;  "  Cam- 
bourne village  lies  to  the  right,  beyond." 

"  The  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  of  Cambourne ! "  said  I 
thoughtfully. 

"  My  dearest  friend,"  uodded  my  companion. 

"  They  say  she  is  very  handsome,"  said  I. 

"  Then  they  speak  truth,  sir." 

"  She  has  been  described  to  me,"  I  went  on,  "  as  a  Peach, 
a  Goddess,  and  a  Plum ;  which  should  you  consider  the 
most  proper  term?  "  My  companion  shot  an  arch  glance 
at  me  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  and  I  saw  a  dimple 
come  and  go,  beside  the  curve  of  her  mouth. 

"  Goddess,  to  be  sure,"  said  she ;  "  peaches  have  such 
rough  skins,  and  plums  are  apt  to  be  sticky." 


122  The  Broad  Highway 

"  And  goddesses,"  I  added,  "  were  all  very  well  upon 
Olympus,  but,  in  this  matter-of-fact  age,  must  be  sadly 
out  of  place.     Speaking  for  myself " 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  particular  Goddess?  "  inquired 
my  companion. 

"  Never." 

"  Then  wait  until  you  have,  sir." 

The  moon  was  down  now,  yet  the  summer  sky  was  won- 
derfully luminous  and  in  the  east  I  almost  fancied  I  could 
detect  the  first  faint  gleam  of  day.  And  after  we  had 
traversed  some  distance  in  silence,  my  companion  suddenly 
spoke,  but  without  looking  at  me. 

"  You  have  never  once  asked  who  I  am,"  she  said,  al- 
most reproachfully  I  thought,  "  nor  how  I  came  to  be  shut 
up  in  such  a  place  —  with  such  a  man." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  I  answered,  "  I  make  it  a  general 
rule  to  avoid  awkward  subjects  when  I  can,  and  never  to 
ask  questions  that  it  will  be  difficult  to  answer." 

"  I  should  find  not  the  least  difficulty  in  answering 
either,"  said  she. 

"  Besides,"  I  continued, "  it  is  no  affair  of  mine,  after  all." 

"  Oh !  "  said  she,  turning  away  from  me ;  and  then,  very 
slowly :  "  No,  I  suppose  not." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  added;  "  how  should  it  be?  " 

"  How  indeed !  "  said  she,  over  her  shoulder.  And  then 
I  saw  that  she  was  angry,  and  wondered. 

"  And  yet,"  I  went  on,  after  a  lapse  of  silence,  *'  I  think 
I  could  have  answered  both  questions  the  moment  I  saw  you 
at  your  casement." 

"  Oh ! "  said  she  —  this  time  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  and 
her  anger  all  gone  again,  for  I  saw  that  she  was  smiling; 
and  again  I  wondered. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"  Then,"  said  she,  seeing  I  was  silent,  "  whom  do  you 
suppose  me  ?  " 

"  You  are,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  the  Lady  Helen 
Dunstan."  My  companion  stood  still,  and  regarded  me 
for  a  moment  in  wide-eyed  astonishment. 


Lovers'  Meetings  123 

"  And  how,  sir,  pray,  did  you  learn  all  this  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, with  the  dimple  once  more  peeping  at  me  slyly 
from  the  corner  of  her  pretty  mouth. 

"  By  the  very  simple  method  of  adding  two  and  two 
together,"  I  answered ;  "  moreover,  no  longer  ago  than 
yesterday  I  broke  bread  with  a  certain  Mr.  Beverley " 

I  heard  her  breath  come  in  a  sudden  gasp,  and  next 
moment  she  was  peering  up  into  my  face  while  her  hands 
beat  upon  my  breast  with  soft,  quick  little  taps. 

"  Beverley !  "  she  whispered.  "  Beverley  !  —  no,  no  — 
why,  they  told  me  —  Sir  Harry  told  me  that  Peregrine 
lay  dying  —  at  Tonbridge." 

"  Then  Sir  Harry  Mortimer  lied  to  you,"  said  I, 
"  for  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday  afternoon  I  sat  in 
a  ditch  eating  bread  and  cheese  with  a  Mr.  Peregrine 
Beverley." 

"  Oh !  —  are  you  sure  —  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure.  And,  as  we  ate,  he  told  me  many  things, 
and  among  them  of  a  life  of  wasted  opportunities  —  of 
fooHsh  riot,  and  prodigal  extravagance,  and  of  its  logical 
consequence  —  want." 

"  My  poor  Perry !  "  she  murmured. 

"  He  spoke  also  of  his  love  for  a  very  beautiful  and  good 
woman,  and  its  hopelessness." 

"  My  dear,  dear  Perry !  "  said  she  again. 

"  And  yet,"  said  I,  "  all  this  is  admittedly  his  own  fault, 
and,  as  I  think  Heraclitus  says :  *  Suffering  is  the  inevitable 
consequence  of  Sin,  or  Folly.'  " 

"  And  he  is  well.''  "  she  asked ;  "  quite  —  quite  well.?  " 

"  He  is,"  said  I. 

"  Thank  God !  "  she  whispered.  "  Tell  me,"  she  went 
on,  "is  he  so  very,  very  poor  —  is  he  much  altered?  I 
have  not  seen  him  for  a  whole,  long  year." 

"  Why,  a  year  is  apt  to  change  a  man,"  I  answered. 
"  Adversity  is  a  hard  school,  but,  sometimes,  a  very  good 
one." 

"  Were  he  changed,  no  matter  how  —  were  he  a  beggar 
upon  the  roads,  I  should  love  him  —  always ! "  said  she. 


124  "Tl^^  Broad  Highway 

speaking  in  that  soft,  caressing  voice  which  only  the  best 
of  women  possess. 

"  Yes,  I  had  guessed  as  much,"  said  I,  and  found  my- 
self sighing. 

"  A  year  is  a  long,  long  time,  and  we  were  to  have  been 
married  this  month,  but  my  father  quarrelled  with  him  and 
forbade  him  the  house,  so  poor  Perry  went  back  to  London. 
Then  we  heard  he  was  ruined,  and  I  almost  died  with  grief 
—  you  see,  his  very  poverty  only  made  me  love  him  the 
more.     Yesterday  —  that  man " 

"  Sir  Harry  Mortimer?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes  (he  was  a  friend  of  whom  I  had  often  heard  Perry 
speak)  ;  and  he  told  me  that  my  Perry  lay  at  Tonbridge, 
dying,  and  begging  to  see  me  before  the  end.  He  offered 
to  escort  me  to  him,  assuring  me  that  I  could  reach  home 
again  long  before  dusk.  My  father,  who  I  knew  would 
never  permit  me  to  go,  was  absent,  and  so  —  I  ran  away. 
Sir  Harry  had  a  carriage  waiting,  but,  almost  as  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed  upon  us,  and  we  had  started,  I  began 
to  be  afraid  of  him  and  —  and " 

"  Sir  Harry,  as  I  said  before,  is  an  unpleasant  animal," 
I  nodded. 

"  Thank  Heaven,"  she  pursued,  "  we  had  not  gone  very 
far  before  the  chaise  broke  down !  And  —  the  rest  you 
know." 

The  footpath  we  had  been  following  now  led  over  a  stile 
into  a  narrow  lane  or  byway.  Very  soon  we  came  to  a 
high  stone  wall  wherein  was  set  a  small  wicket.  Through 
this  she  led  me,  and  we  entered  a  broad  park  where  was 
an  avenue  of  fine  old  trees,  beyond  which  I  saw  the  gables 
of  a  house,  for  the  stars  had  long  since  paled  to  the  dawn, 
and  there  was  a  glory  in  the  east. 

"Your  father  will  be  rejoiced  to  have  you  safe  back 
again,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  she  nodded,  "  but  he  will  be  very  angry."  And, 
hereupon,  she  stopped  and  began  to  pull,  and  twist,  and 
pat  her  shining  hair  with  dexterous  white  fingers,  talking 
thus  the  while: 


Lovers'  Meetings  125 

"  My  mother  died  at  my  birth,  and  since  then  father 
has  worshipped  her  memory,  and  his  face  always  grows 
wonderfully  gentle  when  he  looks  upon  her  portrait.  They 
say  I  'm  greatly  like  her  —  though  she  was  a  famous 
beauty  in  her  day.  And,  indeed,  I  think  there  must  be 
some  truth  in  it,  for,  no  matter  how  I  may  put  him  out, 
my  father  can  never  be  very  angry  when  my  hair  is 
dressed  so." 

With  the  word,  she  turned,  and  truly,  I  thought  the 
face  peeping  out  from  its  clustered  curls  even  more  lovely 
and  bewitching  than  before. 

"  I  very  much  doubt  if  any  man  could,"  said  I. 

As  we  approached  the  house,  I  saw  that  the  smooth 
gravel  was  much  cut  up  as  though  by  the  coming  and 
going  of  many  wheels  and  horses,  and  also  that  one  of  the 
windows  still  shone  with  a  bright  light,  and  it  was  towards 
this  window  that  my  companion  led  me.  In  a  while,  having 
climbed  the  terrace  steps,  I  noticed  that  this  was  one  of 
those  French  windows  opening  to  the  ground.  Now,  look- 
ing tlu-ough  into  the  room  beyond,  I  beheld  an  old  man 
who  sat  bowed  down  at  a  table,  with  his  white  head  pil- 
lowed upon  his  arms,  sitting  so  very  still  that  he  might 
have  been  asleep  but  for  the  fierce  grip  of  his  twitching 
hands.  Now,  upon  the  table,  at  no  great  distance  from 
him,  between  the  guttering  candles,  lay  a  hat  —  a  very 
ill-used,  battered-looking  object  —  which  I  thought  I  rec- 
ognized ;  wherefore,  looking  about,  I  presently  espied  its 
owner  leaning  against  the  mantel.  He  was  powdered  with 
dust  from  head  to  foot,  and  liis  worn  garments  looked 
more  ragged  than  ever;  and,  as  he  stood  there,  in  the 
droop  of  his  head  and  the  listless  set  of  his  shoulders, 
there  was  an  air  of  the  most  utter  dejection  and  hopeless- 
ness, while  upon  his  thin  cheek  I  saw  the  glisten  of  a  great, 
solitary  tear.  But,  as  I  looked,  the  window  was  burst 
suddenly  open: 

"  Perry ! » 

Love,  surprise,  joy,  pity  —  all  were  summed  up  in  that 
one  short  word  —  yet  deeper  than  all  was  love.     And,  at 


126  The  Broad  Highway 

that  cry,  the  white  head  was  raised,  raised  in  time  to  see 
a  vision  of  loveliness  caught  up  in  two  ragged  arms. 

"Father!" 

And  now  the  three  heads  —  the  white,  the  golden,  and 
the  black  —  were  drawn  down  together,  drawn,  and  held 
close  in  an  embrace  that  was  indeed  reunion. 

Then,  seeing  my  presence  was  become  wholly  unneces- 
sary, I  turned  away,  and  was  soon  once  more  deep  among 
the  trees.  Yet,  as  I  went,  I  suddenly  heard  voices  that 
called  upon  my  name,  but  I  kept  on,  and,  in  due  season, 
came  out  upon  the  broad  highway. 

And,  in  a  little,  as  I  went,  very  full  of  thought,  the  sun 
rose  up.  So  I  walked  along  through  a  world  all  glorious 
with  morning. 


CHAPTER    XXn 

IN    WHICH    I    MEET    WITH    A    LITEKAEY    TINKER 

Even  in  that  drowsy,  semi-conscious  state,  that  most  de- 
lightful borderland  which  lies  midway  between  sleeping 
and  waking,  I  knew  it  could  not  be  the  woodpecker  who, 
as  I  judged  from  sundry  manifest  signs,  lodged  in  the 
tree  above  me.  No  woodpecker  that  ever  pecked  could 
originate  such  sounds  as  these  —  two  quick,  light  strokes, 
followed  by  another,  and  heavier,  thus :  Tap,  tap  —  TAP ; 
a  pause,  and  then,  tap,  tap  —  TAP  again,  and  so  on. 

Whatever  doubts  I  may  have  yet  harbored  on  the  sub- 
ject, however,  were  presently  dispelled  by  a  fragrance 
sweeter,  to  the  nostrils  of  a  hungry  man,  than  the  breath 
of  flowers,  the  spices  of  the  East,  or  all  the  vaunted  per- 
fumes of  Arabia  —  in  a  word,  the  odor  of  frying  bacon. 

Hereupon,  I  suddenly  realized  how  exceedingly  keen  was 
my  appetite,  and  sighed,  bethinking  me  that  I  must  first  find 
a  tavern  before  I  could  satisfy  my  craving,  when  a  voice 
reached  me  from  no  great  distance,  a  full,  rich,  sonorous 
voice,  singing  a  song.   And  the  words  of  the  song  were  these : 

"  A  tinker  I  am,  O  a  tinker  am  I, 
A  tinker  I  '11  live,  and  a  tinker  I'll  die; 
If  the  King  in  his  crown  would  change  places  wi'  me 
I  'd  laugh  so  I  would,  and  I  'd  say  unto  he: 
'  A  tinker  I  am,  O  a  tinker  am  I, 
A  tinker  I  'U  live,  and  a  tinker  I'll  die."* 

It  was  a  quaint  air,  with  a  shake  at  the  end  of  the  first 
two  and  last  two  lines,  which,  altogether,  I  thought  very 
pleasing.  I  advanced,  guided  by  the  voice,  until  I  came  out 
into  a  grassy  lane.  Seated  upon  an  artfully-contrived 
folding  stool,  was  a  man.     He  was  a  very  small  man  de- 


128  The  Broad  Highway 

spite  his  great  voice,  who  held  a  kettle  between  his  knees, 
and  a  light  hammer  in  his  hand,  while  a  little  to  one  side 
of  him  there  blazed  a  crackling  fire  of  twigs  upon  which 
a  hissing  frying-pan  was  balanced.  But  what  chiefly  drew 
and  held  my  attention  was  the  man's  face;  narrow  and 
peaked,  with  little,  round,  twinkling  eyes  set  deep  in  his  head, 
close  black  hair,  grizzled  at  the  temples, and  a  long,  blue  chin. 

And  presently,  as  I  stood  staring  at  him,  he  finished 
his  song,  and  chancing  to  raise  his  eyes  stared  back  at  me. 

"  Good  morning !  "  said  he  at  last,  with  a  bright  nod. 

"  So  then  you  did  n't  cut  your  throat  in  the  Hollow  Oak, 
after  all.-^  "  said  I. 

"  Nor  likely  to  either,  master,"  he  answered,  shaking 
his  head.     "  Lord  love  your  eyes  and  limbs,  no !  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  some  day  or  so  ago  I  met  a  man " 

"  Ah ! "  nodded  the  Tinker,  "  to  be  sure  you  did." 

"  A  pedler  of  brooms,  and  ribands  —  " 

"  '  Gabbing  '  Dick !  "  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  Who  told  me  very  seriously " 

"  That  I  'd  been  found  in  the  big  holler  oak  wi*  ray 
throat  cut,"  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  But  what  did  he  mean  by  it.''  " 

"  Why,  y'  see,"  explained  the  Tinker,  leaning  over  to 
turn  a  frizzling  bacon-rasher  very  dexterously  with  the 
blade  of  a  jack-knife,  "  y'  see,  '  Gabbing  '  Dick  is  oncom- 
mon  fond  of  murders,  hangings,  sooicides,  and  such  like  — 
it 's  just  a  way  he  's  got." 

"  A  very  unpleasant  way !  "  said  I. 

"  But  very  harmless  when  all 's  done  and  said,"  added 
the  Tinker. 

"You  mean.?" 

"  A  leetle  weak  up  here,"  explained  the  Tinker,  tapping 
his  forehead  with  the  handle  of  the  jack-knife.  "  His  father 
was  murdered  the  day  afore  he  were  bom,  d'  ye  see,  which 
druv  his  poor  mother  out  of  her  mind,  which  conditions 
is  apt  to  make  a  man  a  leetle  strange." 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  I,  while  the  Tinker  began  his  tap- 
tapping  again. 


I  Meet  with  a  Literary  Tinker     129 

"Are  you  hungry?"  he  inquired  suddenly,  glancing 
up  at  me  with  his  hammer  poised. 

"  Very  hungry !  "  said  I.  Hereupon  he  set  down  his 
hammer,  and,  turning  to  a  pack  at  his  side,  proceeded  to 
extract  therefrom  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  small  tin  of  butter, 
and  a  piece  of  bacon,  from  which  last  he  cut  sundry  slices 
with  the  jack-knife.  He  now  lifted  the  hissing  rashers 
from  the  pan  to  a  tin  plate,  which  he  set  upon  the  grass 
at  my  feet,  together  with  the  bread  and  the  butter ;  and, 
having  produced  a  somewhat  battered  knife  and  fork, 
handed  them  to  me  with  another  bright  nod. 

"  You  are  very  kind !  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  I  'm  a  man  as  is  fond  o'  company,  y'  see  —  es- 
pecially of  one  who  can  think,  and  talk,  and  you  have  the 
face  of  both.  I  am  —  as  you  might  say  —  a  literary  cove, 
being  fond  o'  books,  nov-els,  and  such  like."  And  in  a  little 
while,  the  bacon  being  done  to  his  liking,  we  sat  down  to- 
gether, and  began  to  eat. 

"  That  was  a  strange  song  of  yours,"  said  I,  after  a 
while. 

"  Did  you  like  it?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  quick  tilt  of  his 
head. 

"  Both  words  and  tune,"  I  answered. 

"  I  made  the  words  myself,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  And  do  you  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Mean  what?  "  asked  the  Tinker. 

"  That  you  would  rather  be  a  tinker  than  a  king?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  I  would,"  he  rejoined.  "  Bein'  a 
literary  cove  I  know  summat  o'  history,  and  a  king's  life 
were  n't  all  lavender  —  not  by  no  manner  o'  means,  nor 
yet  a  bed  o'  roses." 

"  Yet  there  's  much  to  be  said  for  a  king." 

"  Very  httle,  I  think,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  A  king  has  great  advantages." 

"  Which  he  generally  abuses,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  There  have  been  some  great  and  noble  kings." 

"  But  a  great  many  more  bad  'uns !  "  said  the  Tinker. 
"  And  then,  look  how  often  they  got  theirselves  pisoned, 


130  The  Broad  Highway 

or  stabbed,  or  'ad  their  'eads  chopped  off !  No  —  if  you 
axes  me,  I  prefer  to  tinker  a  kettle  under  a  hedge." 

"  Then  you  are  contented?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  he  answered,  his  face  falling ;  "  me  being 
a  literary  cove  (as  I  think  I've  mentioned  afore),  it  has 
always  been  my  wish  to  be  a  scholar." 

"  Far  better  be  a  tinker,"  said  I. 

"  Young  fellow,"  said  the  Tinker,  shaking  his  head  re- 
provingly, "  you  're  off  the  mark  there  —  knowledge  is 
power ;  why.  Lord  love  my  eyes  and  limbs !  what 's  finer 
than  to  be  able  to  read  in  the  Greek  and  Latin?  " 

"  To  possess  the  capacity  of  earning  an  honest  liveli- 
hood," said  I. 

"  Why,  I  tell  you,"  continued  the  Tinker,  unheeding 
my  remark,  "  I  'd  give  this  here  left  hand  o'  mine  to  be 
able  to  read  the  very  words  of  such  men  as  Plato,  Aristotle, 
Epictetus,  Xenophon,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em." 

"  There  are  numerous  translations,"  said  I. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  "  sighed  the  Tinker,  "  but  then,  they 
are  translations." 

"  There  are  good  translations  as  well  as  bad,"  said  I. 

"  Maybe,"  returned  the  Tinker,  "  maybe,  but  a  trans- 
lation 's  only  a  echo,  after  all,  however  good  it  be."  As 
he  spoke,  he  dived  into  his  pack  and  brought  forth  a  book, 
which  he  handed  to  me.  It  was  a  smallish  volume  in  bat- 
tered leathern  covers,  and  had  evidently  seen  much  long 
and  hard  service.    Opening  it  at  the  title-page,  I  read : 

Epictetus 
his 

ENCHIRIDION 

with 

Simplicius 

his 

COMMENT. 

Made  English  from  the  Greek 

By 

George  Stanhope,  late  Fellow 

Of  King's  College  in  Camb. 

LONDON 

Printed  for  Richard  Sare  at  Gray 's  Inn  Gate  in  Holbom 
and  Joseph  Hindmarsh  against  the  Exchange  in  Cornhill. 
1694. 


I  Meet  with  a  Literary  Tinker     131 

"  You  've  read  Epictetus,  perhaps  ?  "  inquired  the  Tinker. 

"  I  have." 

"  Not  in  the  Greek,  of  course." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  smiling,  "  though  by  dint  of  much  labor." 

The  Tinker  stopped  chewing  to  stare  at  me  wide-eyed, 
then  swallowed  his  mouthful  at  one  gulp. 

"  Lord  love  me !"  he  exclaimed,  "and  you  so  young,  too !" 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  I  'm  twenty-five." 

*'  And  Latin,  now  —  don't  tell  me  you  can  read  the 
Latin." 

"  But  I  can't  make  a  kettle,  or  even  mend  one,  for  that 
matter,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  are  a  scholar,  and  it 's  a  fine  thing  to  be  a 
scholar!  " 

"  And  I  tell  you  again,  it  is  better  to  be  a  tinker," 
said  L 

"How  so?" 

"  It  is  a  healthier  life,  in  the  first  place,"  said  I. 

"  That,  I  can  believe,"  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  It  is  a  happier  life,  in  the  second  place." 

"  That,  I  doubt,"  returned  the  Tinker. 

"  And,  in  the  third  place,  it  pays  much  better." 

"  That,  I  don't  believe,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I,  "  speaking  for  myself,  I  have,  in 
the  course  of  my  twenty-five  years,  earned  but  ten  sliillings, 
and  that  —  but  by  the  sale  of  my  waistcoat." 

"  Lord  love  me !  "  exclaimed  the  Tinker,  staring. 

"  A  man,"  I  pursued,  "  may  be  a  far  better  scholar  than 
I  —  may  be  full  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Ancients,  and  the 
teachings  of  all  the  great  thinkers  and  philosophers,  and 
yet  starve  to  death  —  indeed  frequently  does ;  but  who 
ever  heard  of  a  starving  Tinker.''  " 

"  But  a  scholar  may  write  great  books,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  A  scholar  rarely  writes  a  great  book,"  said  I,  shaking 
my  head,  "  probably  for  the  good  and  sufficient  reason 
that  great  books  never  are  written." 

"  Young  fellow,"  said  the  Tinker,  staring,  "  what  do 
you  mean  by  that.?  " 


132  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  mean  that  truly  great  books  only  happen,  and  very 
rarely." 

"  But  a  scholar  may  happen  to  write  a  great  book," 
said  the  Tinker. 

"  To  be  sure  —  he  may ;  a  book  that  nobody  will  risk 
publishing,  and  if  so  —  a  book  that  nobody  will  trouble 
to  read,  nowadays." 

"Why  so.?" 

"  Because  this  is  an  eminently  unliterary  age,  incapable 
of  thought,  and  therefore  seeking  to  be  amused.  Whereas 
the  writing  of  books  was  once  a  painful  art,  it  has  of  late 
become  a  trick  very  easy  of  accomplishment,  requiring  no 
regard  for  probability,  and  little  thought,  so  long  as  it 
is  packed  sufficiently  full  of  impossible  incidents  through 
which  a  ridiculous  heroine  and  a  more  absurd  hero  duly 
sigh  their  appointed  way  to  the  last  chapter.  Whereas 
books  were  once  a  power,  they  are,  of  late,  degenerated 
into  things  of  amusement  with  which  to  kill  an  idle  hour, 
and  be  promptly  forgotten  the  next." 

"  Yet  the  great  books  remain,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  but  who  troubles  their  head  over  Homer 
or  Virgil  these  days  —  who  cares  to  open  Steele's  '  Tatler,' 
or  Addison's  '  Spectator,'  while  there  is  the  latest  novel  to 
be  had,  or  '  Bell's  Life  '  to  be  found  on  any  coffee-house 
table.?" 

"  And  why,"  said  the  Tinker,  looking  at  me  over  a  piece 
of  bacon  skewered  upon  the  point  of  his  jack-knife,  "  why 
don't  you  write  a  book.?  " 

"  I  probably  shall  some  day,"  I  answered. 

"  And  supposing,"  said  the  Tinker,  eyeing  the  piece  of 
bacon  thoughtfully,  "  supposing  nobody  ever  reads  it.?  " 

"  The  worse  for  them !  "  said  I. 

Thus  we  talked  of  books,  and  the  making  of  books 
(something  of  which  I  have  already  set  down  in  another 
place)  until  our  meal  was  at  an  end. 

"  You  are  a  rather  strange  young  man,  I  think,"  said 
the  Tinker,  as,  having  duly  wiped  knife,  and  fork,  and 
plate  upon  a  handful  of  grass,  I  handed  them  back. 


I  Meet  with  a  Literary  Tinker     133 

"  Yet  you  are  a  stranger  tinker." 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  who  ever  heard  of  a  tinker  who  wrote  verses, 
and  worked  with  a  copy  of  Epictetus  at  his  elbow?  " 

"  Which  I  don't  deny  as  I  'm  a  great  thinker,"  nodded 
the  Tinker ;  "  to  be  sure,  I  think  a  powerful  lot." 

"  A  dangerous  habit,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  and 
a  most  unwise  one  !  " 

"  Eh?  "  cried  the  Tinker,  staring. 

"  Your  serious,  thinking  man,"  I  explained,  "  is  seldom 
happy  —  as  a  rule  has  few  friends,  being  generally  re- 
garded askance,  and  is  always  misunderstood  by  his  fel- 
lows. All  the  world's  great  thinkers,  from  Christ  down, 
were  generally  misunderstood,  looked  at  askance,  and  had 
very  few  friends." 

"  But  these  were  all  great  men,"  said  the  Tinker. 

"  We  think  so  now,  but  in  their  day  they  were  very 
much  despised,  and  who  was  more  hated,  by  the  very  people 
He  sought  to  aid,  than  Christ?  " 

"  By  the  evil-doers,  yes,"  nodded  the  Tinker. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "  his  worst  enemies  were  men 
of  learning,  good  citizens,  and  patterns  of  morality,  who 
looked  upon  him  as  a  dangerous  zealot,  threatening  the 
destruction  of  the  old  order  of  things ;  hence  they  killed 
him  —  as  an  agitator.  Things  are  much  the  same  to-day. 
History  tells  us  that  Christ,  or  the  spirit  of  Christ,  has 
entered  into  many  men  who  have  striven  to  enlighten  and 
better  the  conditions  of  their  kind,  and  they  have  generally 
met  with  violent  deaths,  for  Humanity  is  very  gross  and 
blind." 

The  Tinker  slowly  wiped  his  clasp-knife  upon  the  leg 
of  his  breeches,  closed  it,  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  he  at  last,  "  I  am  convinced  that 
you  ai'e  a  very  strange  young  man." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  I,  "  the  bacon  was  delicious. 
I  have  never  enjoyed  a  meal  so  much —  except  once  at  an 
inn  called  '  The  Old  Cock.'  " 

"  I  know  it,"  nodded  the  Tinker ;  "  a  very  poor  house." 


134  The  Broad  Highway 

"  But  the  ham  and  eggs  are  beyond  praise,"  said  I ; 
"  still,  my  meal  here  under  the  trees  with  you  will  long 
remain  a  pleasant  memory." 

"  Good-by,  then,"  said  the  Tinker.  "  Good-by,  young 
man,  and  I  wish  you  happiness." 

"What  is  happiness.?"  said  I.  The  Tinker  removed 
his  hat,  and,  having  scratched  his  head,  put  it  on  again. 

"  Happiness,"  said  he,  "  happiness  is  the  state  of  being 
content  with  one's  self,  the  world,  and  everything  in 
general." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  I  fear  I  can  never  be  happy." 

"  And  why  not.?  " 

"  Because,  supposing  I  ever  became  contented  with  the 
world,  and  everything  in  general,  which  is  highly  improb- 
able, I  shall  never,  never  be  contented  with  myself." 


CHAPTER    XXni 

CONCERNING    HAPPINESS,    A    PLOUGHMAN,    AND    SIL.VEE 
BUTTONS 

Now  as  I  went,  pondering  on  true  happiness,  and  the  na- 
ture of  it,  I  beheld  a  man  ploughing  in  a  field  hard  by,  and, 
as  he  ploughed,  he  whistled  lustily.  And  drawing  near 
to  the  field,  I  sat  down  upon  a  gate  and  watched,  for  there 
are  few  sights  and  sounds  I  am  fonder  of  than  the  gleam 
of  the  ploughshare  and  the  sighing  whisper  it  makes  as  it 
turns  the  fragrant  loam. 

"  A  truly  noble  occupation !  "  said  I  to  myself,  "  digni- 
fied by  the  ages  —  ay  —  old,  well  nigh,  as  the  green  earth 
itself;    no  man  need  be  ashamed  to  guide  a  plough.'* 

And  indeed  a  fine  sight  it  made,  the  straining  horses, 
the  stalwart  figure  of  the  Ploughman,  with  the  blue  sky, 
the  long,  brown  furrows,  and,  away  and  beyond,  the  tender 
green  of  leaves;  while  the  jingle  of  the  harness,  the  clear, 
merry,  whistled  notes,  and  the  song  of  a  skylark,  high 
above  our  heads,  all  blended  into  a  chorus  it  was  good  to 
hear. 

As  he  came  up  to  where  I  sat  upon  the  gate,  the  Plough- 
man stopped,  and,  wiping  the  glistening  moisture  from 
his  brow,  nodded  good-humoredly. 

"  A  fine  morning!  "  said  I. 

"  So  it  be,  sir,  now  you  come  to  mention  it,  it  do  be  a 
fine  day  sure-ly." 

"  You,  at  least  seem  happy,"  said  I. 

"  Happy  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  staring. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 


136  The  Broad  Highway 

«  WeU,  I  bean't." 

"  And  why  not?  "  The  Ploughman  scratched  his  ear, 
and  carried  his  glance  from  my  face  up  to  the  sky,  and 
down  again. 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  bean't." 

"  Yet  you  whistle  gayly  enough." 

'*  Why,  a  man  must  do  summat." 

"  Then,  you  seem  strong  and  healthy." 

"  Yes,  I  do  be  fine  an'  hearty." 

"  And  sleep  well  ?  " 

"  Like  a  blessed  log." 

"  And  eat  well.?  " 

"  Eat !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  mighty  laugh.  "  Lord ! 
I  should  think  so  —  why,  I  'm  always  eatin'  or  thinkin' 
of  it.  Oh,  I  'm  a  fine  eater,  I  am  —  an'  I  bean't  no  chicken 
at  drinkin',  neither." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Ah !  —  but  I  bean't !  "  he  repeated,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Have  you  any  troubles  ?  " 

"  None  as  I  can  think  on." 

"  You  earn  good  money  every  week?  " 

"  Ten  shiUin'." 

"  You  are  not  married?  " 

«  Not  me." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  you  must  be  happy."  The  Plough- 
man pulled  at  his  ear  again,  looked  slowly  all  roimd  the 
field,  and,  finally,  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  bean't." 

"  But  why  not?  "  His  eye  roved  slowly  up  from  my 
boots  to  the  buttons  on  my  coat. 

"  Them  be  fine  buttons !  "  said  he. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  " 

"  Look  like  silver !  " 

"  They  are  silver,"  said  I. 

"  Lord !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  would  n't  part  wi'  they 
buttons,  I  suppose?  " 

"  That  depends !  " 

"On  what?" 


A  Ploughman  and  Silver  Buttons     137 

"  On  how  much  you  would  give  for  them."  The  Plough- 
man thrust  a  hand  into  a  deep  pocket,  and  brought  up  five 
shillings. 

"  I  were  a-goin'  to  buy  a  pair  o'  boots,  on  my  way  'ome," 
he  explained,  "  but  I  'd  rayther  'ave  they  buttons,  if  five 
shillin'  '11  buy  'em." 

"  The  boots  would  be  more  serviceable,"  said  I. 

"  Maybe,  sir,  but  then,  everybody  wears  boots,  but  there 
bean't  many  as  can  show  buttons  the  like  o'  them  —  so  if 
you  're  willin' " 

"  Lend  me  your  knife,"  said  I.  And,  forthwith,  I  sawed 
off  the  eight  silver  buttons  and  dropped  them  into  his 
palm,  whereupon  he  handed  me  the  money  with  great 
alacrity. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  "  tell  me  why  you  are  not  happy." 

"  Well,"  returned  the  Ploughman,  back  at  his  ear  again, 
"  ye  see  it  bein'  as  you  ask  so  sudden-like,  I  can't  'zack'ly 
say,  but  if  you  was  to  pass  by  in  a  day  or  two,  why,  maybe 
I  could  tell  ye." 

So,  pocketing  the  buttons,  he  whooped  cheerily  to  his 
horses,  and  plodded  off,  whistling  more  merrily  than  ever. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

WHICH    INTRODUCES    THE    READER    TO    THE    ANCIENT 

The  sun  was  high  when  I  came  to  a  place  where  the  ways 
divided,  and,  while  I  stood  hesitating  which  road  to  take, 
I  heard  the  cool  plash  and  murmur  of  a  brook  at  no  great 
distance.  Wherefore,  being  hot  and  thirsty,  I  scrambled 
through  the  hedge,  and,  coming  to  the  brook,  threw  myself 
face  down  beside  it,  and,  catching  up  the  sweet  pure  water 
in  my  hands,  drank  my  fill ;  which  done,  I  bathed  my  feet, 
and  hands,  and  face,  and  became  much  heartened  and  re- 
freshed thereby.  Now  because  I  have  ever  loved  the  noise 
of  running  waters,  in  a  little  while,  I  rose  and  walked  on 
beside  the  stream,  listening  to  its  blithesome  melody.  So, 
by  devious  ways,  for  the  brook  wound  prodigiously,  I  came 
at  length  to  a  sudden  declivity  down  which  the  water 
plunged  in  a  miniature  cascade,  sparkling  in  the  sun,  and 
gleaming  with  a  thousand  rainbow  hues.  On  I  went,  climb- 
ing down  as  best  I  might,  until  I  found  myself  in  a  sort  of 
green  basin,  very  cool  after  the  heat  and  glare  of  the 
roads,  for  the  high,  tree-clad  sides  afforded  much  shade. 
On  I  went,  past  fragrant  thickets  and  bending  willows,  with 
soft  lush  grass  underfoot  and  leafy  arches  overhead,  and 
the  brook  singing  and  chattering  at  my  side;  albeit  a 
brook  of  changeful  mood,  now  laughing  and  dimpling  in 
some  fugitive  ray  of  sunshine,  now  sighing  and  whispering 
in  the  shadows,  but  ever  moving  upon  its  appointed  way, 
and  never  quite  silent.  So  I  walked  on  beside  the  brook, 
watching  the  fish  that  showed  like  darting  shadows  on  the 
bottom,  until,  chancing  to  raise  my  eyes,  I  stopped.  And 
there,  screened  by  leaves,  shut  in  among  the  green,  stood  a 


Introduces  Reader  to  the  Ancient   139 

small  cottage,  or  hut.  My  second  glance  showed  it  to  be 
tenantless,  for  the  thatch  was  partly  gone,  the  windows 
were  broken,  and  the  door  had  long  since  fallen  from  its 
hinges.  Yet,  despite  its  forlomness  and  desolation,  de- 
spite the  dilapidation  of  broken  door  and  fallen  chimney, 
there  was  something  in  the  air  of  the  place  that  drew  me 
strangely.  It  was  somewhat  roughly  put  together,  but 
still  very  strong,  and  seemed,  save  for  the  roof,  weather- 
fast. 

"  A  man  might  do  worse  than  live  here,"  thought  I, 
"  with  the  birds  for  neighbors,  and  the  brook  to  sing  him 
to  sleep  at  night.  Indeed,  a  man  might  live  very  happily  in 
such  a  place." 

I  was  still  looking  at  the  hut,  with  this  in  my  mind, 
when  I  was  startled  by  hearing  a  thin,  quavering  voice 
behind  me : 

"  Be  you  'm  a-lookin'  at  t'  cottage,  master  ?  " 

Turning  sharp  round,  I  beheld  a  very  ancient  man  in  a 
smock  frock,  who  carried  a  basket  on  one  arm,  and  leaned 
upon  a  stick. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  I  was  wondering  how  it  came 
to  be  built  in  such  an  out-of-the-world  spot." 

"  Why,  't  were  built  by  a  wanderin'  man  o'  the  roads." 

"  It 's  very  lonely !  "  said  I. 

"  Ye  may  well  say  so,  sir  —  haunted  it  be,  tu." 

"Haunted.?"  said  I. 

"  Haunted  as  ever  was ! "  answered  the  old  man,  with 
a  sprightly  nod  strangely  contrasting  with  his  wrinkled 
face  and  tremulous  limbs.  "  No  one  ventures  nigh  the 
place  arter  dark,  an'  few  enough  in  the  daytime,  for 
that  matter." 

"  On  account  of  the  ghost.''  " 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  Ancient,  "  moans  'e  du,  an'  likewise 
groans.  Theer  's  some  as  says  'e  twitters  tu,  an'  shakes 
chains." 

"  Then  nobody  has  lived  here  of  late  .'*  " 

"  Bless  'ee  no  —  nor  would  n't,  no,  not  if  ye  paid  'em  tu. 
Nobody 's    come   a-nigh    the   place,   you    may    say,    since 


140  The  Broad  Highway 

*t  were  built  by  the  wanderin'  man.  Lived  'ere  all  aloue,  'e 
did  —  killed  'isself  'ere  likewise." 

"KiUed  himself!"  said  I. 

"  Ah  — !  'ung  'isself  —  be'ind  th'  door  yonder,  sixty 
an'  six  year  ago  come  August,  an'  't  were  me  as  found  'im. 
Ye  see,"  said  the  old  man,  setting  down  his  basket,  and 
seating  himself  with  great  nicety  on  the  moss-grown  door- 
step, "  ye  see,  't  were  a  tur'ble  storm  that  night  —  rain, 
and  wind,  wi'  every  now  an'  then  a  gert,  cracklin'  flame  o' 
lightnin'.  I  mind  I  'd  been  up  to  th'  farm  a-courtin'  o' 
Nancy  Brent  —  she  'm  dead  now,  poor  lass,  years  an' 
years  ago,  but  she  were  a  fine,  buxom  maid  in  those  days, 
d'  ye  see.  Well,  I  were  comin'  'ome,  and  what  wi'  one  thing 
an'  another,  I  lost  my  way.  An'  presently,  as  I  were 
stumblin'  along  in  the  dark,  comes  another  crackle  o'  light- 
nin', an'  lookin'  up,  what  should  I  see  but  this  'ere  cottage. 
'T  were  newer-lookin'  then,  wi'  a  door  an'  winders,  but  the 
door  was  shut  an'  the  winders  was  dark  —  so  theer  I 
stood  in  the  rain,  not  likin'  to  disturb  the  stranger,  for  'e 
were  a  gert,  fierce,  unfriendly  kind  o'  chap,  an'  uncommon 
fond  o'  bein'  left  alone.  Hows'ever,  arter  a  while,  up  I 
goes  to  th'  door,  an'  knocks  (for  I  were  a  gert,  strong, 
strappin',  well-lookin'  figure  o'  a  man  myself,  in  those 
days,  d'  ye  see,  an'  could  give  a  good  buffet  an'  tak  one  tu), 
so  up  I  goes  to  th'  door,  an'  knocks  wi'  my  fist  clenched,  all 
ready  (an'  a  tidy,  sizable  fist  it  were  in  those  days)  — 
but  Lord !  nobody  answered,  so,  at  last,  I  lifted  the  latch." 
Here  the  Ancient  paused  to  draw  a  snuff-box  from  his 
pocket,  with  great  deliberation,  noting  my  awakened  in- 
terest with  a  twinkling  eye. 

"Well?  "I  inquired. 

"Well,"  he  continued  slowly,  "I  lifted  th'  latch,  an' 
give  a  push  to  the  door,  but  it  would  only  open  a  little  way 
—  an  inch,  p'r'aps,  an'  stuck."  Here  he  tapped,  and 
opened  his  snuff-box. 

"  Well.''  "  I  inquired  again. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on,  "  I  give  it  a  gert,  big  push  wi'  my 
shoulder  (I  were  a  fine,  strong  chap  in  those  days),  an', 


Introduces  Reader  to  the  Ancient    141 

just  as  it  flew  open,  comes  another  flash  o'  lightnin',  an'  the 
fust  thing  I  seen  was  —  a  boot." 

"  A  boot !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  A  boot  as  ever  was,"  nodded  the  Ancient,  and  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff  with  great  apparent  gusto. 

"  Go  on,"  said  I,  "  go  on." 

"  Oh !  —  it 's  a  fine  story,  a  fine  story !  "  he  chuckled. 
"  Theer  bean't  many  men  o'  my  age  as  'as  fund  a  'ung  man 
in  a  thunderstorm !  Well,  as  I  tell  ye,  I  seen  a  boot,  like- 
wise a  leg,  an'  theer  were  this  'ere  wanderin'  man  o'  the 
roads  a-danglin'  be'ind  th'  door  from  a  stapil  —  look  ye !  " 
he  exclaimed,  rising  with  some  little  difficulty,  and  hobbling 
into  the  hut,  "  theer  be  th'  very  stapil,  so  it  be !  "  and  he 
pointed  up  to  a  rusty  iron  staple  that  had  been  driven 
deep  into  the  beam  above  the  door. 

"  And  why,"  said  I,  "  why  did  he  hang  himself?  " 

"  Seein'  e'  'ad  no  friends,  and  never  told  nobody  —  no- 
body never  knowed,"  answered  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
head,  "  but  on  that  theer  stapil  'e  'ung  'isself,  an'  on  that 
theer  stapil  I  fund  'im,  on  a  stormy  night  sixty  and  six 
year  ago  come  August." 

"  You  have  a  wonderful  memory !  "  said  I. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure ;  a  wimnerf ul  mem'ry,  a  wunnerf ul 
mem'ry !  " 

"  Sixty  and  six  years  is  an  age,"  said  I. 

"  So  it  be,"  nodded  the  Ancient.  "  I  were  a  fine  young 
chap  in  those  days,  tall  I  were,  an'  straight  as  a  arrer. 
I  be  a  bit  different  now." 

"  Why,  you  are  getting  old,"  said  I. 

"  So  's  t'  stapil  yonder,  but  t'  stapil  looks  nigh  as  good 
as  ever." 

"  Iron  generally  wears  better  than  flesh  and  blood," 
said  I;   "it 's  only  natural." 

"  Ay,  but  'e  can't  last  forever,"  said  the  Ancient,  frown- 
ing, and  shaking  his  head  at  the  rusty  staple.  "  I  've 
watched  un,  month  in  an'  month  out,  all  these  years,  an* 
seen  un  growin'  rustier  an'  rustier.  *  I  '11  last  'ee  out  yet,' 
I  've  said  tu  im  —  'e  knows  it  —  'e  've  heerd  me  many 


1^2  The  Broad  Highway 

an'  many  a  time.  *  I  '11  last  'ee  out  yet ! '  I  've  said,  an'  so 
I  will,  tu  —  'e  can't  last  forever  an'  I  be  a  vig'rus  man  — 
a  mortal  vig'rus  man  —  bean't  I?  " 

"  Wonderfully !  "  said  I. 

"  An'  so  strong  as  a  bull?  " 

"  To  be  sure." 

"  An'  t'  stapil  can't  last  much  longer  —  eh,  maister?  — 
so  old  an'  rusty  as  'e  be.''  " 

"  One  would  hardly  think  so." 

"  Not  so  long  as  a  tur'ble  vig'rus  man,  like  I  be?  "  he 
inquired,  with  a  certain  wistful  appeal  in  his  eyes. 

"  No,"  I  answered  impulsively. 

"  I  knowed  it  —  I  knowed  it,"  he  chuckled,  feebly 
brandishing  his  stick,  "  such  a  poor  old  stapil  as  't  is,  all 
eat  up  wi'  rust.  Every  time  I  come  'ere  a-gatherin'  water- 
cress, I  come  in  an'  give  un  a  look,  an'  watch  un  rustin' 
away,  an'  rustin'  away ;  I  '11  see  un  go  fust,  arter  all,  so 
I  will !  "  and,  with  another  nod  at  the  staple,  he  turned,  and 
hobbled  out  into  the  sunshine. 

And  seeing  how,  despite  his  brave  showing,  he  labored 
to  carry  the  heavy  basket,  I  presently  took  it  from  him, 
disregarding  his  protests,  and  set  off  by  his  side;  yet,  as 
we  went,  I  turned  once  to  look  back  at  the  deserted  hut. 

"  You  'm  thinkin'  't  is  a  tur'ble  bad  place  at  night  ?  " 
said  the  old  man. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  answered,  "  I  was  thinking  it 
might  suit  a  homeless  man  like  me  very  well  indeed." 

"D'ye  mean  —  to  live  there?"  exclaimed  the  Ancient. 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"Then  you  bean't  afraid  o'  the  ghost?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  P'r'aps  you  be  one  o'  they  fules  as  think  theer  bean't 
no  ghosts  ?  " 

"  As  to  that,"  I  answered,  "  I  don't  know,  but  I  don't 
think  I  should  be  much  afraid,  and  it  is  a  great  blessing  to 
have  some  spot  on  this  unfriendly  world  that  we  can  call 
'  home  '  —  even  though  it  be  but  a  hut,  and  haunted." 

In  a  little  while  the  path  we  followed  led  up  a  some- 


Introduces  Reader  to  the  Ancient    143 

what  steep  ascent  which,  though  not  so  precipitous  as 
the  place  where  I  had  entered  the  hollow,  was  a  difficult 
climb,  notwithstanding;  seeing  which,  I  put  out  a  hand 
to  aid  my  aged  companion.  But  he  repulsed  me  almost 
sharply : 

"  Let  be,'*  he  panted,  "  let  be,  nobody  's  never  'elped 
me  up  this  'ere  path,  an'  nobody  never  shall !  "  So  up  we 
went,  the  Ancient  and  I,  side  by  side,  and  very  slowly, 
until,  the  summit  being  reached,  he  seated  himself,  spent 
and  breathless,  upon  a  fallen  tree,  which  had  doubtless 
served  this  purpose  many  times  before,  and  mopped  at  his 
wrinkled  brow  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  his 
breath  sufficiently,  "  ye  see,  I  be  wunnerful  spry  an'  active 
—  could  dance  ye  a  hornpipe  any  day,  if  I  was  so  minded." 

"  On  my  word,"  said  I,  "  I  believe  you  could !  But  where 
are  you  going  now.''  " 

"  To  Siss'n'urst !  " 

"How  far  is  that.?" 

"  'Bout  a  mile  acrost  t'  fields,  you  can  see  the  pint  o' 
Joel  Amos's  oast-'ouse  above  the  trees  yonder." 

"  Is  there  a  good  inn  at  Sissinghurst?  " 

"  Ay,  theer  's  '  The  Bull,'  comfortable,  an'  draws  fine 
ale !  " 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  Sissinghurst." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  nodded  the  old  man,  "  if  it  be  good  ale  an' 
a  comfortable  inn  you  want  you  need  seek  no  further  nor 
Siss'n'urst ;  ninety  an'  one  years  I  've  lived  there,  an'  I 
know." 

"  Ninety-one  years  !  "  I  repeated. 

"  As  ever  was !  "  returned  the  Ancient,  with  another 
nod.  "  I  be  the  oldest  man  in  these  parts  'cept  David  Relf, 
an'  'e  died  last  year." 

"  Why  then,  if  he 's  dead,  you  must  be  the  oldest," 
said  I. 

"  No,"  said  the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head,  "  ye  see  it 
be  this  way :  David  were  my  brother,  an'  uncommon  proud 
'e  were  o'  bein'  the  oldest  man  in  these  parts,  an'  now 


144  The  Broad  Highway 

that  'e  be  dead  an'  gone  it  du  seem  a  poor  thing  —  ah !  a 
very  poor  thing !  —  to  tak'  'vantage  of  a  dead  man,  an' 
him  my  own  brother ! "  Saying  which,  the  Ancient  rose, 
and  we  went  on  together,  side  by  side,  towards  Sissinghurst 
village. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

OP    BLACK    GEORGE,    THE    SMITH,    AND    HOW    WE 
THEEW    THE    HAMMER 

"  The  BvJjJj  "  is  a  plain,  square,  whitewashed  building, 
with  a  sloping  roof,  and  before  the  door  an  open  portico, 
wherein  are  set  two  seats  on  which  one  may  sit  of  a 
sunny  afternoon  with  a  mug  of  ale  at  one's  elbow  and 
watch  the  winding  road,  the  thatched  cottages  bowered  in 
roses,  or  the  quiver  of  distant  trees  where  the  red,  conical 
roof  of  some  oast-house  makes  a  vivid  note  of  color  amid 
the  green.  Or  one  may  close  one's  eyes  and  hark  to  the 
chirp  of  the  swallows  under  the  eaves,  the  distant  lowing 
of  cows,  or  the  clink  of  hammers  from  the  smithy  across 
the  way. 

And  presently,  as  we  sat  there  drowsing  in  the  sun,  to 
us  came  one  from  the  "  tap,"  a  bullet-headed  fellow,  small 
of  eye,  and  nose,  but  great  of  jaw,  albeit  he  was  become 
somewhat  fat  and  fleshy  —  who,  having  nodded  to  me,  sat 
him  down  beside  the  Ancient,  and  addressed  him  as 
follows : 

"  Black  Jarge  be  '  took  '  again,  Gaffer !  " 

"  Ah !  I  knowed  't  would  come  soon  or  late,  Simon,"  said 
the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  knowed  as  'e  'd  never  last 
the  month  out." 

"  Seemed  goin'  on  all  quiet  and  reg'lar,  though,"  said 
the  bullet-headed  man,  whom  I  discovered  to  be  the  land- 
lord of  "  The  Bull  "  —  "  seemed  nice  and  quiet,  and  nothin' 
out  o'  the  way,  when,  'bout  an  hour  ago  it  were,  'e  ups  and 
heaves  Sam  out  into  the  road." 


146  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  old  man,  nodding  his  head  again,  "  to 
be  sure,  I  've  noticed,  Simon,  as  't  is"  generally  about  the 
twentieth  o'  the  month  as  Jarge  gets  '  took.'  " 

"  'E  've  got  a  wonderful  'ead,  'ave  the  Gaffer !  "  said 
Simon,  turning  to  me. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  who  is  Black  George ;  how  comes 
he  to  be  '  taken,'  and  by  what .''  " 

"  Gaffer,"  said  the  Innkeeper,  "  you  tell  un." 

"  Why,  then,"  began  the  Ancient,  nothing  loth,  "  Black 
Jarge  be  a  gert,  big,  strong  man  —  the  biggest,  gertest, 
and  strongest  in  the  South  Country,  d'ye  see  (a'most  as 
fine  a  man  as  I  were  in  my  time),  and,  off  and  on,  gets  took 
wi'  tearin's  and  rages,  at  which  times  'e  don't  mind  who 
'e  'its " 

"  No  —  nor  wheer !  "  added  the  Innkeeper. 

"  Oh,  'e  be  a  bad  man,  be  Black  Jarge  when  'e  's  took, 
for  'e  'ave  a  knack,  d'  ye  see,  of  takin'  'old  o'  the  one 
nighest  to  un,  and  a-heavin'  of  un  over  'is  'ead." 

"  Extremely  unpleasant !  "  said  I. 

"  Just  what  he  done  this  marnin'  wi'  Sam,"  nodded  the 
Innkeeper  —  "  hove  un  out  into  the  road,  'e  did." 

"  And  what  did  Sam  do?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh !    Sam  were  mighty  glad  to  get  off  so  easy." 

"  Sam  must  be  a  very  remarkable  fellow  —  undoubt- 
edly a  philosopher,"  said  I. 

"  'E  be  nowt  to  look  at !  "  said  the  Ancient. 

Now  at  this  moment  there  came  a  sudden  deep  bellow,  a 
hoarse,  bull-like  roar  from  somewhere  near  by,  and,  looking 
round  in  some  perplexity,  through  the  wide  doorway  of 
the  smithy  opposite,  I  saw  a  man  come  tumbling,  all  arms 
and  legs,  who,  having  described  a  somersault,  fell,  rolled 
over  once  or  twice,  and  sitting  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  stared  about  him  in  a  dazed  sort  of  fashion. 

"  That 's  Job !  "  nodded  the  Ancient. 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  I,  and  rose  to  go  to  his  assistance. 

"  Oh,  that  were  n't  nothin',"  said  the  Ancient,  laying  a 
restraining  hand  upon  my  arm,  "  nothin'  at  all.  Job 
bean't  'urt ;  why,  I  've  seen  'em  fall  further  nor  that  afore 


Black  George,  the  Smith       147 

now,  but  y'  see  Job  be  pretty  heavy  handlin'  —  even  for 
Black  Jarge." 

And,  in  a  little  while,  Job  arose  from  where  he  sat  in  the 
dust,  and  limping  up,  sat  himself  down  on  the  opposite 
bench,  very  black  of  brow  and  fierce  of  eye.  And,  after 
he  had  sat  there  silent  for  maybe  five  minutes,  I  said  that 
I  hoped  he  was  n't  hurt. 

"  'Urt  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  a  blank  stare.  "  'Ow  should 
I  be  'urt.?  " 

"  Why,  you  seemed  to  fall  rather  heavily,"  said  I. 

At  this  Job  regarded  me  with  a  look  half  resentful,  half 
reproachful,  and  immediately  turned  his  back  upon  me; 
from  which,  and  sundry  winks  and  nods  and  shakes  of  the 
head  from  the  others,  it  seemed  that  my  remark  had  been 
iU-judged.  And  after  we  had  sat  silent  for  maybe  another 
five  minutes,  the  Ancient  appeared  to  notice  Job's  presence 
for  the  first  time. 

"  Why,  you  bean't  workin'  's  arternoon  then.  Job.'*  "  he 
inquired  solemnly. 

"Noa!" 

"  Goin'  to  tak'  a  'olleyday,  p'r'aps.'*  " 

"  Ah !  I  'm  done  wi'  smithin'  —  leastways,  for  Black 
Jarge." 

"And  him  wi'  aU  that  raft  o'  work  in.  Job.'*  Pretty 
fix  'e  '11  be  in  wi'  no  one  to  strike  for  'im !  "  said  Simon. 

"  Sarves  un  right  tu !  "  retorted  Job,  furtively  rubbing 
his  left  knee. 

"  But  what  '11  'e  do  wi*out  a  'elper  .'*  "  persisted  Simon. 

"  Lord  knows !  "  returned  the  Ancient ;  "  unless  Job 
thinks  better  of  it." 

"  Not  me,"  said  that  individual,  feeling  his  right  elbow 
with  tender  solicitude.  "  I  'm  done  wi'  Black  Jarge,  I 
am.  'E  nigh  broke  my  back  for  me  once  afore,  but  this  is 
the  last  time;  I  never  swing  a  sledge  for  Black  Jarge 
again  —  danged  if  I  du !  " 

"  And  'im  to  mend  th'  owd  church  screen  up  to  Cran- 
brook  Church,"  sighed  the  Ancient ;  "  a  wunnerful  screen, 
a  wunnerful  screen  !    older  nor  me  —  ah  !    a  sight  older  — 


148  The  Broad  Highway 

hunneds  and  hunneds  o'  years  older  —  they  would  n't  let 
nobody  touch  it  but  Black  Jarge." 

"  'E  be  the  best  smith  in  the  South  Country !  "  nodded 
Simon.  j0 

"  Ay,  an'  a  bad  man  to  work  for  as  ever  was !  "  growled 
Job.  "  I  '11  work  for  'e  no  more ;  my  mind  's  made  up,  an' 
when  my  mind  's  made  up  theer  bean't  no  movin'  me  —  like 
a  rock  I  be !  " 

"  'T  would  ha'  been  a  fine  thing  for  a  Siss'n'urst  man 
to  ha'  mended  t'  owd  screen !  "  said  the  Ancient. 

"  'T  would  that !  "  nodded  Simon.  "  a  shame  it  is  as  it 
should  go  to  others." 

Hereupon,  having  finished  my  ale,  I  rose. 

"  Be  you  'm  a-goin',  young  maister.'' "  inquired  the 
Ancient. 

"  Why,  that  depends,"  said  I.  "  I  understand  that  this 
man.  Black  George,  needs  a  helper,  so  I  have  decided  to 
go  and  offer  my  services." 

"  You !  "  exclaimed  Job,  staring  in  open-mouthed 
amazement,  as  did  also  the  other  two. 

"Why  not.''"  I  rejoined.  "Black  George  needs  a 
helper,  and  I  need  money." 

"  My  chap,"  said  Job  warningly,  "  don't  ye  do  it.  You 
be  a  tidy,  sizable  chap,  but  Black  Jarge  ud  mak'  no  more 
o'  you  than  I  should  of  a  babby  —  don't  ye  do  it." 

"  Better  not,"  said  Simon. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  returned,  "  better  run  a  little 
bodily  risk  and  satisfy  one's  hunger,  rather  than  lie  safe 
but  famishing  beneath  some  hedge  or  rick  —  what  do  you 
think,  Ancient?  " 

The  old  man  leaned  forward  and  peered  up  at  me 
sharply  beneath  his  hanging  brows, 

"Well.?"  said  I. 

"  You  'm  right !  "  he  nodded,  "  and  a  man  wi'  eyes  the 
like  o'  yourn  bean't  one  as  't  is  easy  to  turn  aside,  even 
though  it  do  be  Black  Jarge  as  tries." 

"  Then,"  said  Job,  as  I  took  up  my  staff,  "  if  your 
back  's  broke,  my  chap  —  why,  don't  go  for  to  blame  me. 


Black  George,  the  Smith       149 

that 's  all !  You  be  a  sight  too  cocksure  —  ah,  that  you 
be!" 

"  I  'm  thinkin'  Black  Jarge  would  find  this  chap  a  bit 
different  to  Job,"  remarked  the  Ancient.  "  What  do  'ee 
think,  Simon  ?  " 

"  Looks  as  if  'e  might  take  a  good  blow,  ah !  and  give 
one,  for  that  matter,"  returned  the  Innkeeper,  studying  me 
with  half-closed  eyes,  and  his  head  to  one  side,  as  I  have 
seen  artists  look  at  pictures.  "  He  be  pretty  wide  in  the 
shoulders,  and  full  in  the  chest,  and,  by  the  look  of  him, 
quick  on  'is  pins." 

"  You  've  been  a  fightin'  man,  Simon,  and  you  ought  to 
know  —  but  he  've  got  summat  better  still." 

"  And  what  might  that  be,  Gaffer  ?  "  inquired  the  Inn- 
keeper. 

*'  A  good,  straight,  bright  eye,  Simon,  wi'  a  look  in  it 
as  says,  '  I  will ! '  " 

"  Ah !  but  what  o'  Jarge  ?  "  cried  Job.  "  Black  Jarge 
don't  mind  a  man's  eyes,  'cept  to  black  frequent;  'e  don't 
mind  nothin',  nor  nobody." 

"  Job,"  said  the  Ancient,  tapping  his  snuff-box, 
"  theer  's  some  things  as  is  better  nor  gert,  big  muscles, 
and  gert,  strong  fists  —  if  you  was  n't  a  danged  fule  you  'd 
know  what  I  mean.  ,Young  man,"  he  went  on,  turning  to 
me,  "  you  puts  me  in  mind  o'  what  I  were  at  your  age  — 
though,  to  be  sure,  I  were  taller  'n  you  by  about  five  or 
six  inches,  maybe  more  —  but  don't  go  for  to  be  too 
cock-sure  for  all  that.  Black  Jarge  are  n't  to  be  sneezed 
at." 

"  And,  if  you  must  'it  un,"  added  the  Innkeeper,  "  why, 
go  for  the  chin  —  theer  are  n't  a  better  place  to  'it  a  man 
than  on  the  chin,  if  so  be  you  can  thump  it  right  —  and 
'ard  enough.  I  mind  't  was  so  I  put  out  Tom  Brock  o' 
Bedford  —  a  sweet,  pretty  blow  it  were  too,  though  I  do 
say  it." 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  I ;  "  should  it  come  to  fighting, 
which  Heaven  forfend,  I  shall  certainly  remember  your 
advice."     Saying  which,  I  turned  away,  and  crossed  the 


150  The  Broad  Highway 

road  to  the  open  door  of  the  smithy,  very  conscious  of  the 
three  pairs  of  eyes  that  watched  me  as  I  went. 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  forge  I  paused  to  look  about 
me,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  smith.  Indeed  a  fine, 
big  fellow  he  was,  with  great  shoulders,  and  a  mighty 
•chest,  and  arms  whose  bulging  muscles  showed  to  advan- 
tage in  the  red  glow  of  the  fire.  In  his  left  hand  he 
grasped  a  pair  of  tongs  wherein  was  set  a  glowing  iron 
scroll,  upon  which  he  beat  with  the  hammer  in  his  right. 
I  stood  watching  until,  having  beaten  out  the  glow  from  the 
iron,  he  plunged  the  scroll  back  into  the  fire,  and  fell  to 
blowing  with  the  bellows.  But  now,  as  I  looked  more 
closely  at  him,  I  almost  doubted  if  this  could  be  Black 
George,  after  all,  for  this  man's  hair  was  of  a  bright  gold, 
and  curled  in  tight  rings  upon  his  brow,  while,  instead  of 
the  black,  scowling  visage  I  had  expected,  I  beheld  a  ruddy, 
open,  well-featured  face  out  of  which  looked  a  pair  of  eyes 
of  a  blue  you  may  sometimes  see  in  a  summer  sky  at  even- 
ing. And  yet  again,  his  massive  size  would  seem  to  pro- 
claim him  the  famous  Black  George,  and  no  other.  It  was 
with  something  of  doubt  in  my  mind,  nevertheless,  that  I 
presently  stepped  into  the  smithy  and  accosted  him. 

"  Are  you  Black  George.''  "  I  inquired.  At  the  sound 
of  my  voice,  he  let  go  the  handle  of  the  bellows,  and  turned ; 
as  I  watched,  I  saw  his  brows  draw  suddenly  together, 
while  the  golden  hairs  of  his  beard  seemed  to  curl  upward. 

"  Suppose  I  be.'*  " 

"  Then  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

"  Be  that  what  you  'm  come  for.'*  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Be  you  come  far  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That 's  a  pity." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  you  '11  'ave  a  good  way  to  go  back  again." 

"  What  do  you  mean  .'*  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  means  as  I  don't  like  your  looks, 
my  chap." 


Black  George,  the  Smith       151 

"  And  why  don't  you  like  my  looks  ?  " 

"  Lord !  "  exclaimed  the  smith,  "  'ow  should  I  know  — 
but  I  don't  —  of  that  I  'm  sartin  sure." 

"  Which  reminds  me,"  said  I,  "  of  a  certain  unpopular 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Fell,  or  Pell,  or  Snell." 

"  Eh?  "  said  the  smith,  staring. 

"  There  is  a  verse,  I  remember,  which  runs,  I  think,  in 
this  wise: 

'"  I  do  not  love  thee.  Doctor  Fell,  or  Pell,  or  Snell, 
For  reasons  which  I  cannot  tell; 
But  this  I  know,  and  know  full  well, 
I  do  not  love  thee.  Doctor  Fell,  or  Pell,  or  Snell. '  " 

"  So  you  'm  a  poet,  eh?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"  Then  I  'm  sorry  for  it ;  a  man  don't  meet  wi'  poets 
every  day,"  saying  which,  he  drew  the  scroll  from  the  fire, 
and  laid  it,  glowing,  upon  the  anvil.  "  You  was  wishful  to 
speak  wi'  me,  I  think?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  smith,  "  to  be  sure,"  and,  forthwith, 
began  to  sing  most  lustily,  marking  the  time  very  cleverly 
with  his  ponderous  hand-hammer. 

"  If,"  I  began,  a  little  put  out  at  this,  "  if  you  will  listen 

to  what  I  have  to  say "      But  he  only  hammered  away 

harder  than  ever,  and  roared  his  song  the  louder;  and, 
though  it  sounded  ill  enough  at  the  time,  it  was  a  song 
I  came  to  know  well  later,  the  words  of  which  are  these: 

"Strike!  ding!  ding! 
Strike!  ding!  ding! 
The  iron  glows. 
And  loveth  good  blows 
As  fire  doth  bellows. 
Strike!  ding!  ding!" 

Now  seeing  he  was  determined  to  give  me  no  chance  to 
speak,  I  presently  seated  myself  close  by,  and  fell  to  sing- 
ing likewise.  Oddly  enough,  the  only  thing  I  could  recall, 
on  the  moment,  was  the  Tinker's  song,  and  that  but  very 
imperfectly ;   yet  it  served  my  purpose  well  enough.    Thus 


152  The  Broad  Highway 

we  fell  to  it  with  a  will,  the  different  notes  clashing,  and 
filling  the  air  with  a  most  vile  discord,  and  the  words  all 
jumbled  up  together,  something  in  this  wise: 

"Strike!  ding!  ding! 
A  tinker  I  am,  O 
Strike!  ding!  ding! 
A  tinker  am  I 
The  iron  it  glows, 
A  tinker  I  'II  live 
And  loveth  good  blows. 
And  a  tinker  I'll  die. 
As  fire  doth  bellows. 
If  the  King  in  his  crown 
Strike!  ding!  ding! 
Would  change  places  with  me 
Strike!  ding!  ding!  "     And  so  forth. 

The  louder  he  roared,  the  louder  roared  I,  until  the 
place  fairly  rang  with  the  din,  in  so  much  that,  chancing 
to  look  through  the  open  doorway,  I  saw  the  Ancient,  with 
Simon,  Job,  and  several  others,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  staring,  open-mouthed,  as  well  they  might.  But  still 
the  smith  and  I  continued  to  howl  at  each  other  with  un- 
abated vigor  until  he  stopped,  all  at  once,  and  threw  down 
his  hammer  with  a  clang. 

"  Dang  me  if  I  like  that  voice  o'  youm !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  I  don't  sing  very  often,"  I  answered. 

"  Which,  I  mean  to  say,  is  a  very  good  thing ;  ah !  a 
very  good  thing !  " 

"  Nor  do  I  pretend  to  sing " 

"  Then  why  do  'ee  try  now  ?  '* 

"  For  company's  sake." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it;  I  've  'ad  enough  of  it." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  suppose  you  listen  to  what  I  have  to 
say?  " 

'*  Not  by  no  manner  o'  means." 

"  Then  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  smith,  rising  and  stretching  himself, 
"  since  you  ax  me,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  pitch  you  out  o'  yon 
door." 

"  You  may  try,  of  course,"  said  I,  measuring  the  dis- 


Black  George,  the  Smith        153 

tance  between  us  with  my  eye,  "  but  if  you  do,  seeing  you 
are  so  much  the  bigger  and  stronger  man,  I  shall  certainly 
fetch  you  a  knock  with  this  staff  of  mine  which  I  think  you 
will  remember  for  many  a  day." 

So  saying,  I  rose  and  stepped  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Black  George  eyed  me  slowly  up  from  the  soles  of 
my  boots  to  the  crown  of  my  hat  and  down  again,  picked 
up  his  hammer  in  an  undecided  fashion,  looked  it  over  as 
if  he  had  never  seen  such  a  thing  before,  tossed  it  into  a 
corner,  and,  seating  himself  on  the  anvil,  folded  his  arms. 
All  at  once  a  merry  twinkle  leapt  into  the  blue  depths  of 
his  eyes,  and  I  saw  the  swift  gleam  of  a  smile. 

"  What  do  'ee  want  —  man .''  "  said  he. 

Now  hereupon,  with  a  sudden  gesture,  I  pitched  my  staff 
out  through  the  open  doorway  into  the  road,  and  folded 
my  arms  across  my  chest,  even  as  he. 

"  Why  did  'ee  do  that  ?  "  he  inquired,  staring. 

"  Because  I  don't  think  I  shall  need  it,  after  all." 

"  But  suppose  I  was  to  come  for  'ee  now?  " 

"  But  you  won't." 

"  You  be  a  strange  sort  o'  chap !  "  said  he,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  So  they  tell  me." 

"  And  what  does  the  likes  o'  you  want  wi'  the  likes  o' 
me?" 

"  Work !  " 

"  Know  anythin'  about  smithin'  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing." 

"  Then  why  do  'ee  come  'ere?  " 

«  To  learn." 

"  More  fool  you !  "  said  the  smith. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  smithin'  is  'ard  work,  and  dirty  work,  and 
hot  work,  and  work  as  is  badly  paid  nowadays." 

"  Then  why  are  you  a  smith  ?  " 

"  My  feyther  was  a  smith  afore  me." 

"  And  is  that  your  only  reason  ?  " 

"  My  only  reason."  , 


154  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Then  jou  are  the  greater  fool.'* 

"  You  think  so,  do  ye?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Supposing"  said  Black  George,  stroking  his  golden 
beard  reflectively,  "  supposin'  I  was  to  get  up  and  break 
your  neck  for  that." 

"  Then  you  would,  at  least,  save  me  from  the  folly  of 
becoming  a  smith." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Black  George,  shaking  his  head,  "  no, 
I  do  not  like  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that." 

"  Because,"  he  went  on,  "  you  've  got  the  gift  o'  the 
gab,  and  a  gabbing  man  is  worse  than  a  gabbing 
woman." 

"  You  can  gab  your  share,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  said  I. 

"Can  I.?" 

"  You  can." 

"  My  chap,"  he  growled,  holding  up  a  warning  hand, 
"  go  easy  now,  go  easy ;    don't  get  me  took  again." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  I  returned. 

"  I  be  a  quiet  soul  till  I  gets  took  —  a  very  quiet  soul 
—  lambs  bean't  quieter,  but  I  won't  answer  for  that  neck 
o'  yourn  if  I  do  get  took  —  so  look  out !  " 

"  I  understand  you  have  an  important  piece  of  work  on 
hand,"  said  I,  changing  the  subject. 

"  Th'  owd  church  screen,  yes." 

"  And  are  in  need  of  a  helper?  '* 

"  Ah !  to  be  sure  —  but  you  are  n't  got  the  look  o'  a 
workin'  cove.  I  never  see  a  workin'  cove  wi'  'ands  the  like 
o'  yourn,  so  white  as  a  woman  's  they  be." 

"  I  have  worked  hard  enough  in  my  time,  nevertheless," 
said  I. 

"  What  might  you  'ave  done,  now  ?  " 

"  I  have  translated  Petronius  Arbiter,  also  Quintilian, 
with  a  literal  rendering  into  the  English  of  the  Memoires 
of  the  Sieur  de  Brantome." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  smith,  "  that  sounds  a  lot !  any- 
thing more?  " 


Black  George,  the  Smith       155 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  I  won  the  High  Jump,  and 
Throwing  the  Hammer." 

"  Throwin'  th'  'ammer !  "  repeated  Black  George  mus- 
ingly ;  "  was  it  anything  like  that  theer  ?  "  And  he  pointed 
to  a  sledge  near  by. 

"  Something,"  I  answered. 

"  And  you  want  work?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Tell  'ee  what,  my  fellow,  if  you  can  throw  that  theer 
'ammer  further  nor  me,  then  I  '11  say,  *  Done,'  and  you 
can  name  your  own  wages,  but  if  I  beat  you,  and  I  'm 
fair  sure  I  can,  then  you  must  stand  up  to  me  for  ten 
minutes,  and  I  '11  give  'ee  a  good  trouncin'  to  ease  my 
mind  —  what  d'  ye  say  ?  " 

After  a  momentary  hesitation,  I  nodded  my  head. 

"  Done !  "  said  I. 

"  More  fool  you !  "  grinned  the  smith,  and,  catching  up 
his  sledge-hammer,  he  strode  out  into  the  road. 

Before  "  The  Bull  "  a  small  crowd  had  gathered,  all 
newly  come  from  field  or  farmyard,  for  most  of  them  car- 
ried rake  or  pitchfork,  having  doubtless  been  drawn  thither 
by  the  hellish  outcry  of  Black  George  and  myself.  Now 
I  noticed  that  while  they  listened  to  the  Ancient,  who  was 
holding  forth,  snuff-box  in  hand,  yet  every  eye  was  turned 
towards  the  smithy,  and  in  every  eye  was  expectation. 
At  our  appearance,  however,  I  thought  they  seemed,  one 
and  all,  vastly  surprised  and  taken  aback,  for  heads  were 
shaken,  and  glances  wandered  from  the  smith  and  myself 
to  the  Ancient,  and  back  again. 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  danged !  "  exclaimed  Job. 

"  I  knowed  it !  I  knowed  it !  "  cried  the  Ancient,  rub- 
bing his  hands  and  chuckling. 

"  Knowed  what,  GaflFer .''  "  inquired  Black  George,  as 
we  came  up. 

"  Why,  I  knowed  as  this  young  chap  would  come  out 
a-walkin'  'pon  his  own  two  legs,  and  not  like  Job,  a-rollin* 
and  a-wallerin'  in  the  dust  o'  th'  road  —  like  a  hog." 

"  Why,  y'  see.  Gaffer,"  began  the  smith,  almost  apolo- 


156  The  Broad  Highway 

getically  It  seemed  to  me,  "  it  do  come  sort  o'  nat'ral  to 
heave  the  likes  o'  Job  about  a  bit  —  Job  's  made  for  it,  y' 
might  say,  but  this  chap  's  different." 

"  So  'e  be,  Jarge  —  so  'e  be ! "  nodded  the  Ancient. 

"  Though,  mark  me,  Gaffer,  I  are  n't  nohow  in  love  wi* 
this  chap  neither  —  'e  gabs  too  much  to  suit  me,  by  a  long 
sight !  " 

"  'E  do  that !  "  chimed  in  Job,  edging  nearer ;  "  what 
I  sez  is,  if  'e  do  get  'is  back  broke,  'e  are  n't  got  nobody 
to  blame  but  'isself  —  so  cocksure  as  'e  be." 

"  Job,"  said  the  Ancient,  "  hold  thee  tongue." 

"  I  sez  'e  's  a  cocksure  cove,"  repeated  Job  doggedly, 
"  an'  a  cocksure  cove  'e  be;  what  do  'ee  think,  Jarge .f*  " 

"  Job,"  returned  the  smith,  "  I  don't  chuck  a  man  into 
t'  road  and  talk  wi'  'im  both  in  the  same  day." 

In  this  conversation  I  bore  no  part,  busying  myself  in 
drawing  out  a  wide  circle  in  the  dust,  a  proceeding  watched 
by  the  others  with  much  interest,  and  not  a  few  wondering 
comments. 

"  What  be  goin'  to  du  wi'  'ammer,  Jarge  ?  "  inquired 
the  Ancient. 

"  Why,"  explained  the  smith,  "  this  chap  thinks  'e  can 
throw  it  further  nor  me."  At  this  there  was  a  general 
laugh.  "  If  so  be  'e  can,"  pursued  Black  George,  "  then 
'e  comes  to  work  for  me  at  'is  own  price,  but  if  I  beat  'im, 
then  'e  must  stand  up  to  me  wi'  'is  fists  for  ten  minutes." 

"  Ten  minutes  !  "  cried  a  voice ;  "  'e  won't  last  five  — 
see  if  'e  do." 

"  Feel  sorry  for  un,"  said  a  second,  "  'e  do  be  so  pale 
as  a  sheet  a'ready." 

"  So  would  you  be  if  you  was  in  'is  shoes !  "  chimed  in 
a  third;   whereat  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

Indeed,  as  I  looked  round  the  ring  of  grinning,  unre- 
sponsive faces,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  all  sympathy  was 
against  the  stranger,  as  is  the  way  of  bird,  beast,  fish, 
but  especially  man,  the  world  over  —  and  I  experienced  a 
sudden  sense  of  loneliness  which  was,  I  think,  only  natural. 
Yet,  as  I  put  up  my  hand  to  loose  the  strap  of  my  knap- 


Black  George,  the  Smith       157 

sack,  I  encountered  another  already  there,  and,  turning, 
beheld  Simon  the  Innkeeper. 

"  If  it  do  come  to  fightin',"  he  whispered  close  in  my 
ear,  "  if  it  do  come  to  fightin',  and  I  'm  fair  sure  it  will, 
keep  away  as  much  as  you  can ;  you  look  quick  on  your 
pins.  Moreover,  whatever  you  do,  watch  'is  right,  and 
when  you  do  see  a  chance  to  strike,  go  for  'is  chin  —  a 
little  to  one  side  —  and  strike  danged  'ard !  " 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  friendly  advice,"  said  I,  with 
a  grateful  nod  and,  slipping  off  my  coat,  would  have 
handed  it  to  him  but  that  the  Ancient  hobbled  up,  and, 
taking  it  from  me,  folded  it  ostentatiously  across  his  arm. 

"  Mark  my  words,  Simon,"  said  he,  "  this  young  chap 
is  as  like  what  I  were  at  his  age  as  one  pea  is  to  another  — 
I  says  so,  and  I  means  so." 

"  Come,"  said  Black  George,  at  this  juncture,  "  I  've 
work  waitin'  to  be  done,  and  my  forge  fire  will  be  out." 

"  I  'm  quite  ready,"  said  I,  stepping  forward.  It  was 
now  arranged  that,  standing  alternately  within  the  circle, 
we  should  each  have  three  throws  —  whoever  should  make 
the  two  best  throws  to  win. 

Hereupon,  the  smith  took  his  place  within  the  circle, 
hammer  in  hand. 

"  Wait,"  said  I,  "  the  advantage  usually  lies  with  the 
last  thrower,  it  would  be  fairer  to  you  were  we  to  toss 
for  it." 

"  No,"  answered  Black  George,  motioning  the  onlookers 
to  stand  back,  "  I  've  got  th'  'ammer,  and  I  '11  throw  first." 

Now,  as  probably  every  one  knows,  it  is  one  thing  to 
swing  a  sledge-hammer  in  the  ordinary  way  but  quite 
another  to  throw  it  any  distance,  for  there  is  required, 
beside  the  bodily  strength,  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge, 
without  which  a  man  is  necessarily  handicapped.  Thus, 
despite  my  opponent's  great  strength  of  arm,  I  was  fairly 
sanguine  of  the  result. 

Black  George  took  a  fresh  grip  upon  the  hammer-shaft, 
twirled  it  lightly  above  his  head,  swung  it  once,  twice, 
thrice  —  and  let  it  go. 


158  The  Broad  Highway 

With  a  shout,  Job  and  two  or  three  others  ran  down  the 
road  to  mark  where  it  had  fallen,  and  presently  returned, 
pacing  out  the  distance. 

"  Fifty-nine !  "  they  announced. 

"  Can  'ee  beat  that.'* "  inquired  Black  George  com- 
placently. 

"  I  think  I  can,"  I  answered  as,  taking  up  the  hammer, 
I,  in  turn,  stepped  into  the  ring.  Gripping  the  shaft 
firmly,  I  whirled  it  aloft,  and  began  to  swing  it  swifter  and 
swifter,  gaining  greater  impetus  every  moment,  till,  like 
a  flash,  it  flew  from  my  grasp.  Panting,  I  watched  it  rise, 
rise,  rise,  and  then  plunge  down  to  earth  in  a  smother  of 
dust. 

"  'E  've  beat  it !  "  cried  the  Ancient,  flourishing  his 
stick  excitedly.    "  Lord  love  me,  'e  've  beat  it !  " 

"  Ay,  'e  've  beat  it,  sure-ly,"  said  a  man  who  carried  a 
rake  that  was  forever  getting  in  everybody's  way. 

"  An'  by  a  goodish  bit  tu !  "  shouted  another. 

"  Ah !  but  Jarge  are  n't  got  'is  arm  in  yet,"  retorted  a 
third ;  "  Jarge  can  do  better  nor  that  by  a  long  sight !  " 
But  now  all  voices  were  hushed  as  Job  paced  up. 

"  Eighty-two !  "  he  announced.  Black  George  looked 
hard  at  me,  but,  without  speaking,  stepped  sulkily  into  the 
ring,  moistened  his  palms,  looked  at  me  again,  and  seizing 
the  hammer,  began  to  whirl  it  as  he  had  seen  me.  Round 
and  round  it  went,  faster  and  faster,  till,  with  a  sudden 
lurch,  he  hurled  it  up  and  away.  Indeed  it  was  a  mighty 
throw!  Straight  and  strong  it  flew,  describing  a  wide 
parabola  ere  it  thudded  into  the  road. 

The  excitement  now  waxed  high,  and  many  started  off 
to  measure  the  distance  for  themselves,  shouting  one  to 
another  as  they  went.  As  for  the  smith,  he  stood  beside 
me,  whistling,  and  I  saw  that  the  twinkle  was  back  in  his 
eyes  again. 

"  One  hunner  and  twenty !  "  cried  half-a-dozen  voices. 

"  And  a  half,"  corrected  Job,  thrusting  the  hammer  into 
my  hand,  and  grinning. 

"  Can  'ee  beat  that.''  "  inquired  Black  George  again. 


Black  George,  the  Smith      159 

"  Ay,  can  'ee  beat  that  ?  "  echoed  the  crowd. 

"  It  was  a  marvellous  throw !  "  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 
And  indeed,  in  my  heart  I  knew  I  could  never  hope  to 
equal,  much  less  beat,  such  a  mighty  cast.  I  therefore 
decided  on  strategy,  and,  with  this  in  mind,  proceeded,  in 
a  leisurely  fashion,  once  more  to  mark  out  the  circle,  which 
was  obUterated  in  places,  to  flatten  the  surface  underfoot, 
to  roll  up  my  sleeves,  and  tighten  my  belt;  in  fine,  I  ob- 
served all  such  precautions  as  a  man  might  be  expected  to 
take  before  some  supreme  effort. 

At  length,  having  done  everything  I  could  think  of 
to  impress  this  idea  upon  the  onlookers,  I  took  up  the 
hammer. 

"  Means  to  do  it  this  time !  "  cried  the  man  with  the  rake, 
knocking  off  Job's  hat  in  his  excitement,  as,  with  a  tre- 
mendous swing,  I  made  my  second  throw.  There  was  a 
moment's  breathless  silence  as  the  hammer  hurtled  through 
the  air,  then,  like  an  echo  to  its  fall,  came  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter, for  the  distance  was  palpably  far  short  of  the  giant 
smith's  last.  A  moment  later  Job  came  pacing  up,  and 
announced : 

"  Eighty-seven !  "  Hereupon  arose  a  very  babel  of 
voices : 

"  You  've  got  un  beat  a'ready,  Jarge !  " 

"  Well,  I  knowed  it  from  the  start !  " 

"  Let  un  alone,"  cried  Simon,  "  'e  've  got  another  chance 
yet." 

"  Much  good  it  '11  do  'im !  " 

"  Ah !  might  as  well  give  in  now,  and  take  'is  thrashin' 
and  ha'  done  wi'  it." 

That  my  ruse  had  succeeded  with  the  crowd  was  evident ; 
they  —  to  a  man  —  believed  I  had  done  my  best,  and 
already  regarded  me  as  hopelessly  beaten.  My  chance  of 
winning  depended  upon  whether  the  smith,  deluded  into  a 
like  belief,  should  content  himself  with  just  beating  my 
last  throw,  for,  should  he  again  exert  his  mighty  strength 
to  the  uttermost,  I  felt  that  my  case  was  indeed  hopeless. 

It  was  with  a  beating  heart,  therefore,  that  I  watched 


i6o  The  Broad  Highway 

him  take  his  place  for  the  last  throw.  His  face  wore  a 
confident  smile,  but  nevertheless  he  took  up  the  hammer 
with  such  a  businesslike  air  that  my  heart  sank,  and,  feeling 
a  touch  upon  my  arm,  I  was  glad  to  turn  away. 

"  I  be  goin'  to  fetch  a  sponge  and  water,"  said  Simon. 

*'  A  sponge  and  water !  " 

"  Ah !  Likewise  some  vinegar  —  theer  's  nothin'  like 
vinegar  —  and  remember  —  the  chin,  a  little  to  one  side 
preferred." 

"  So  then  you  think  I  shall  be  beaten  .'*  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  say  that,  but  it 's  best  to  be  prepared, 
are  n't  it  now  ?  " 

And,  with  a  friendly  nod,  the  Innkeeper  turned  away. 
In  that  same  minute  there  arose  another  shout  from  the 
crowd  as  they  greeted  Black  George's  last  throw,  and  Job, 
striding  up,  announced: 

"  Ninety-eight !  " 

Then,  while  the  air  still  echoed  with  their  plaudits,  I 
stepped  into  the  ring,  and,  catching  up  the  hammer,  swung 
it  high  above  my  head,  and,  at  the  full  length  of  my  arms, 
began  to  wheel  it.  The  iron  spun  faster  and  faster  till, 
setting  my  teeth,  with  the  whole  force  of  every  fibre,  every 
nerve,  and  muscle  of  my  body,  I  let  it  fly. 

The  blood  was  throbbing  at  my  temples  and  my  breath 
coming  fast  as  I  watched  its  curving  flight.  And  now  all 
voices  were  hushed  so  that  the  ring  of  the  iron  could  be 
plainly  heard  as  it  struck  the  hard  road,  and  all  eyes 
watched  Job,  as  he  began  pacing  towards  us.  As  he  drew 
nearer  I  could  hear  him  counting  to  himself,  thus: 

"  Ninety-one,  ninety-two,  ninety-three,  ninety-four, 
ninety-five,  ninety-six,  ninety-seven,  ninety-eight,  ninety- 
nine,  one  hundred,  one  hundred  and  one,  one  hundred  and 
two  —  one  hundred  and  two !  " 

Next  moment,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  an  inarticulate  Ancient 
was  desperately  trying  to  force  me  into  my  coat,  wrong 
side  first,  and  Simon  was  shaking  my  hand. 

"  You  tricked  me !  "  cried  a  voice,  and  turning,  I  found 
Black  George  confronting  me  with  clenched  fists. 


Black  George,  the  Smith       i6i 

"  And  how  did  I  trick  you  ?  " 

"  I  could  ha'  chucked  farther  nor  that." 

«  Then  why  did  n't  you?  " 

"  Because  I  thought  you  was  beat.  I  say  you  tricked 
me." 

"  And  I  tell  you  the  match  was  a  fair  one  from  start 
to  finish !  " 

"  Put  up  your  hands !  "  said  the  smith,  advancing  in  a 
threatening  manner. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  a  bargain  is  a  bargain,"  and  turning 
my  back  upon  him,  I  fell  to  watching  the  man  with  the 
rake,  who,  not  content  with  Job's  word,  was  busily  pacing 
out  the  distance  for  himself. 

"  Put  up  your  hands !  "  repeated  Black  George  hoarsely. 

"  For  the  last  time,  no,"  said  I  over  my  shoulder. 
"  Strike  me  if  you  will,"  I  went  on,  seeing  him  raise  his 
fist,  "  I  shall  not  defend  myself,  but  I  tell  you  this,  Black 
George,  the  first  blow  you  strike  will  brand  you  coward, 
and  no  honest  man." 

"  Coward,  is  it.f*  "  cried  he,  and,  with  the  word,  had 
seized  me  in  a  grip  that  crushed  my  flesh,  and  nigh  swung 
me  off  my  feet ;  "  coward  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  none  but  a  coward  would  attack  an 
unresisting  man."  So,  for  a  full  minute  we  stood  thus, 
staring  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  once  again  I  saw  the 
hairs  of  his  golden  beard  curl  up,  and  outwards. 

What  would  have  been  the  end  I  cannot  say,  but  there 
came  upon  the  stillness  the  sound  of  flying  footsteps,  the 
crowd  was  burst  asunder,  and  a  girl  stood  before  us,  a  tall, 
handsome  girl  with  raven  hair,  and  great,  flashing  black 
eyes. 

"  Oh !  —  you,  Jarge,  think  shame  on  yourself  —  think 
shame  on  yourself.  Black  Jarge.  Look !  "  she  cried,  point- 
ing a  finger  at  him,  "  look  at  the  great,  strong  man  —  as 
is  a  coward !  " 

I  felt  the  smith's  grip  relax,  his  arms  dropped  to  his 
sides,  while  a  deep,  red  glow  crept  up  his  cheeks  till  it  was 
lost  in  the  clustering  curls  of  gleaming,  yellow  hair. 


1 62  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Why,  Prue "  he  began,  in  a  strangely  altered 

voice,  and  stopped.  The  fire  was  gone  from  his  eyes  as 
they  rested  upon  her,  and  he  made  a  movement  as  though 
he  would  have  reached  out  his  hand  to  her,  but  checked 
himself. 

"  Why,  Prue "  he  said  again,  but  choked  suddenly, 

and,  turning  away,  strode  back  towards  his  forge  without 
another  word.  On  he  went,  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left,  and  I  thought  there  was  something  infinitely  woe- 
begone and  pitiful  in  the  droop  of  his  head. 

Now  as  I  looked  from  his  forlorn  figure  to  the  beautiful, 
flushed  face  of  the  girl,  I  saw  her  eyes  grow  wonderfully 
soft  and  sweet,  and  brim  over  with  tears.  And,  when  Black 
George  had  betaken  himself  back  to  his  smithy,  she  also 
turned,  and,  crossing  swiftly  to  the  inn,  vanished  through 
its  open  doorway. 

"  She  've  a  fine  sperrit,  'ave  that  darter  o'  yourn,  Simon, 
a  fine  sperrit.  Oh !  a  fine  sperrit  as  ever  was !  "  chuckled 
the  Ancient. 

"  Prue  are  n't  afeard  o'  Black  Jarge  —  never  was,"  re- 
turned Simon ;  "  she  can  manage  un  —  alius  could ;  you  '11 
mind  she  could  alius  tame  Black  Jarge  wi'  a  look.  Gaffer." 

"  Ah !  she  'm  a  gran'darter  to  be  proud  on,  be  Prue," 
nodded  the  Ancient,  "  an'  proud  I  be  tu ! " 

"  What,"  said  I,  "  is  she  your  daughter,  Simon  ?  " 

"  Ay,  for  sure." 

"  And  your  granddaughter,  Ancient  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  she  be,  that  she  be." 

"  Why,  then,  Simon  must  be  your  son." 

"  Son  as  ever  was !  "  nodded  the  old  man,  "  and  a  good- 
ish  son  'e  be  tu  —  oh,  I  've  seen  worse." 

"  And  now,"  added  Simon,  "  come  in,  and  you  shall  taste 
as  fine  a  jug  of  ale  as  there  be  in  all  Kent." 

*'  Wait,"  said  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
arm,  "  I  've  took  to  you,  young  chap,  took  to  you  amazin' ; 
what  might  your  name  be.''  " 

"  Peter,"  I  answered. 

**  A   good   name,   a   fine   name,"   nodded   the   old    man. 


Black  George,  the  Smith       163 

"  Peter  —  Simon,"  said  he,  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other  of  us.  "  Simon  —  Peter ;  minds  me  o'  the  disciple 
of  our  blessed  Lord,  it  du ;   a  fine  name  be  Peter." 

So  Peter  I  became  to  him  thenceforth,  and  to  the  whole 
village. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

WHEEEIN    I    LEAEN    MOEE    CONCEENING    THE    GHOST 
OF    THE    EUINED    HUT 

And  after  the  Ancient  and  Simon  and  I  had,  very  cred- 
itably, emptied  the  jug  between  us,  I  rose  to  depart. 

"  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient,  "  wheer  be  goin'?  " 

"  Home !  "  said  I. 

"  And  wheer  be  that?  " 

"  The  cottage  in  the  Hollow,"  said  I. 

"  What  —  th'  'aunted  cottage  ?  "  he  cried,  staring. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded ;  "  from  what  I  saw  of  it,  I  think, 
with  a  little  repairing,  it  might  suit  me  very  well." 

"  But  the  ghost.''  "  cried  the  old  man;  "  have  ye  forgot 
the  ghost.?  " 

"  Why,  I  never  heard  of  a  ghost  really  harming  any  one 
yet,"  I  answered. 

"  Peter,"  said  Simon,  quietly,  "  I  would  n't  be  too  sure 
o'  that.  I  would  n't  go  a-nigh  the  place,  myself ;  once  is 
enough  for  me." 

"  Simon,"  said  I,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  '  once  '?  " 

Now  when  I  asked  him  this,  Simon  breathed  hard,  and 
shuffled  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  I  mean,  Peter,  as  I  've  heerd  un,"  he  replied  slowly. 

"  Heard  him !  "  I  repeated  incredulously ;  "  you .''  Are 
you  sure.''  " 

"  Sure  as  death,  Peter.  I  've  heerd  un  a-shriekin'  and 
a-groanin'  to  'isself,  same  as  Gaffer  'as,  and  lots  of  others. 
Why,  Lord  bless  'ee !  theer  be  scarce  a  man  in  these  parts 
but  'as  'eerd  un  one  time  or  another." 


The  Ghost  of  the  Ruined  Hut    165 

"  Ay  —  I  've  'eerd  un,  and  seen  un  tu !  "  croaked  the 
Ancient  excitedly.  "  A  gert,  tall  think  'e  be,  wi'  a  'om  on 
'is  'ead,  and  likewise  a  tail ;  some  might  ha'  thought  't  was 
the  Wanderin'  Man  o'  the  Roads  as  I  found  'angin'  on  t' 
stapil  —  some  on  'em  du,  but  I  knowed  better  —  I  knowed 
't  were  Old  Nick  'isself ,  all  flame,  and  brimstone,  an'  wi'  a 
babby  under  'is  arm !  " 

"  A  baby  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  A  babby  as  ever  was,"  nodded  the  Ancient. 

"  And  you  say  you  have  heard  it  too,  Simon .''  "  said  I. 

"  Ay,"  nodded  the  Innkeeper ;  "  I  went  down  into  th' 
'Oiler  one  evenin'  —  'bout  six  months  ago,  wi'  Black  Jarge, 
for  we  'ad  a  mind  to  knock  th'  owd  place  to  pieces,  and  get 
rid  o'  the  ghost  that  way.  Well,  Jarge  ups  wi'  'is  'ammer, 
and  down  comes  the  rotten  old  door  wi'  a  crash.  Jarge  'ad 
swung  up  'is  'ammer  for  another  blow  when,  all  at  once,  theer 
comes  a  scream."  Here  Simon  shivered  involuntarily,  and 
glanced  uneasily  over  his  shoulder,  and  round  the  room. 

"  A  scream  .'*  "  said  I. 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  Simon,  "  but  't  were  worse  nor  that." 
Here  he  paused  again,  and  looking  closer  at  him,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  that  his  broad,  strong  hands  were  shak- 
ing, and  that  his  brow  glistened  with  moisture. 

"  What  was  it  like .''  "  I  inquired,  struck  by  this  appar- 
ent weakness  in  one  so  hardy  and  full  of  health. 

"  'T  were  a  scream  wi'  a  bubble  in  it,"  he  answered, 
speaking  with  an  effort,  "  't  were  like  somebody  shriekin' 
out  wi'  'is  throat  choked  up  wi'  blood.  Jarge  and  me 
did  n't  wait  for  no  more ;  we  run.  And  as  we  run,  it 
follered,  groanin'  arter  us  till  we  was  out  upon  the  road, 
and  then  it  shrieked  at  us  from  the  bushes.  Ecod!  it  do 
make  me  cold  to  talk  of  it,  even  now.  Jarge  left  'is  best 
sledge  be'ind  'im,  and  I  my  crowbar,  and  we  never  went 
back  for  them,  nor  never  shall,  no."  Here  Simon  paused 
to  mop  the  grizzled  hair  at  his  temples.  "  I  tell  'ee,  Peter, 
that  place  are  n't  fit  for  no  man  at  night.  If  so  be  you  'm 
lookin'  for  a  bed,  my  chap,  theer  's  one  you  can  'ave  at 
*  The  Bull,'  ready  and  wiUin'." 


1 66  The  Broad  Highway 

"  An'  gratus !  "  added  the  Ancient,  tapping  his  snuff- 
box. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  "  both  of  you,  for  the  offer,  but 
I  have  a  strange  fancy  to  hear,  and,  if  possible,  see  this 
ghost  for  myself." 

"  Don't  'ee  du  it,"  admonished  the  Ancient,  "  so  dark 
an'  lonesome  as  it  be,  don't  'ee  du  it,  Peter." 

"  Why,  Ancient,"  said  I,  "  it  is  n't  that  I  doubt  your 
word,  but  my  mind  is  set  on  the  adventure.  So,  if  Simon 
will  let  me  have  threepenny  worth  of  candles,  and  some 
bread  and  meat  —  no  matter  what  —  I  '11  be  off,  for  I 
should  like  to  get  there  before  dusk." 

Nodding  gloomily,  Simon  rose  and  went  out,  whereupon 
the  Ancient  leaned  over  and  laid  a  yellow,  clawlike  hand 
upon  my  arm. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  "  Peter,  I  've  took  to  you  amazin' ; 
just  a  few  inches  taller  —  say  a  couple  —  an'  you  'd  be 
the  very  spit  o'  what  I  were  at  your  age  —  the  very  spit." 

"  Thank  you.  Ancient !  "  said  I,  laying  my  hand  on  his. 

"  Now,  Peter,  't  would  be  a  hij  ious  thing  —  a  very 
hijious  thing  if,  when  I  come  a-gatherin'  watercress  in  the 
marnin',  I  should  find  you  a-danglin'  on  t'  stapil,  cold  and 
stiff  —  like  t'  other,  or  lyin'  a  corp  wi'  your  throat  cut ; 
'twould  be  a  hijious — hijious  thing,  Peter,  but  oh! 
't  would  mak'  a  fine  story  in  the  tellin'." 

In  a  little  while  Simon  returned  with  the  candles,  a 
tinder-box,  and  a  parcel  of  bread  and  meat,  for  which  he 
gloomily  but  persistently  refused  payment.  Last  of  all  he 
produced  a  small,  brass-bound  pistol,  which  he  insisted  on 
my  taking. 

"  Not  as  it  '11  be  much  use  again'  a  ghost,"  said  he,  with 
a  gloomy  shake  of  the  head,  "  but  a  pistol 's  a  comfortable 
thing  to  *ave  in  a  lonely  place  —  'specially  if  that  place  be 
very  dark."  Which  last,  if  something  illogical,  may  be 
none  the  less  true. 

So,  having  shaken  each  by  the  hand,  I  bade  them  good 
night,  and  set  off  along  the  darkening  road. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

WHICH    TELLS    HOW    AND    IN    WHAT    MANNER    I    SAW 
THE    GHOST 

Now,  as  I  went,  my  mind  was  greatly  exercised  as  to  a 
feasible  explanation  of  what  I  had  just  heard.  That  a 
man  so  old  as  the  Ancient  should  "  see  things  "  I  could 
readily  believe,  by  reason  of  his  years,  for  great  age  is 
often  subject  to  such  hallucinations,  but  with  Simon,  a 
man  in  the  prime  of  his  life,  it  was  a  different  matter  alto- 
gether. That  he  had  been  absolutely  sincere  in  his  story 
I  had  read  in  his  dilating  eye  and  the  involuntary  shiver 
that  had  passed  over  him  while  he  spoke.  Here  indeed, 
though  I  scouted  all  idea  of  supernatural  agency,  there 
lay  a  mystery  that  piqued  my  curiosity  not  a  little. 

Ghosts  !  —  pshaw !  What  being,  endowed  with  a  reason- 
ing mind,  could  allow  himself  to  think,  let  alone  believe  in 
such  folly.?     Ghosts  —  fiddle-de-dee,  sir! 

Yet  here,  and  all  at  once,  like  an  enemy  from  the  dark, 
old  stories  leaped  at  and  seized  me  by  the  throat :  old  tales 
of  spectres  grim  and  bloody,  of  goblins,  and  haunted 
houses  from  whose  dim  desolation  strange  sounds  would 
come ;   tales  long  since  heard,  and  forgot  —  till  now. 

Ghosts  !  Why,  the  road  was  full  of  them ;  they  crowded 
upon  my  heels,  they  peered  over  my  shoulders ;  I  felt  them 
brush  my  elbows,  and  heard  them  gibbering  at  me  from  the 
shadows. 

And  the  sun  was  setting  already ! 

Ghosts!  And  why  not?  "There  are  more  things 
in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in  your 
philosophy." 


1 68  The  Broad  Highway 

Involuntarily  I  hastened  my  steps,  but  the  sun  liad  set 
ere  I  reached  the  Hollow.  Yes,  the  sun  had  set,  and  the 
great  basin  below  me  was  already  brimful  of  shadows 
which,  as  I  watched,  seemed  to  assume  shapes  —  vast, 
nebulous,  and  constantly  changing  —  down  there  amid  the 
purple  gloom  of  the  trees.  Indeed,  it  looked  an  unholy 
place  in  the  half  light,  a  pit  framed  for  murders,  and  the 
safe  hiding  of  tell-tale  corpses,  the  very  haunt  of  horrid 
goblins  and  spectres,  grim  and  ghastly. 

So  evilly  did  the  place  impress  me  that  it  needed  an 
effort  of  wiU  ere  I  could  bring  myself  to  descend  the  pre- 
cipitous slope.  Bats  flitted  to  and  fro  across  my  path,  now 
and  then,  emitting  their  sharp,  needlelike  note,  while,  from 
somewhere  in  the  dimness  beyond,  an  owl  hooted. 

By  the  time  I  reached  the  cottage,  it  had  fallen  quite 
dark,  here  in  the  Hollow,  though  the  light  still  lingered  in 
the  world  above.  So  I  took  out  my  tinder-box,  and  one  of 
the  candles,  which,  after  several  failures,  I  succeeded  in 
lighting,  and,  stepping  into  the  cottage,  began  to  look 
about  me. 

The  place  was  small,  as  I  think  I  have  before  said,  and 
comprised  two  rooms  shut  off  from  each  other  by  a  strong 
partition  with  a  door  midway.  Lifting  the  candle,  I 
glanced  at  the  staple  on  which  the  builder  of  the  cottage 
had  choked  out  his  life  so  many  years  ago,  and,  calling  to 
mind  the  Ancient's  fierce  desire  to  outlast  it,  I  even  reached 
up  my  hand  and  gave  it  a  shake.  But,  despite  the  rust  of 
years,  the  iron  felt  as  strong  and  rigid  as  ever,  so  that  it 
seemed  the  old  man's  innocent  wish  must  go  unsatisfied 
after  all.  The  second  room  appeared  much  the  same  size 
as  the  first,  and  like  it  in  all  respects,  till,  looking  upwards, 
I  noticed  a  square  trap  door  in  a  corner,  while  underneath, 
against  the  wall,  hung  a  rough  ladder.  This  I  proceeded 
to  lift  down,  and  mounting,  cautiously  lifted  the  trap. 
Holding  the  candle  above  my  head  to  survey  this  cham- 
ber, or  rather  garret,  the  first  object  my  eye  encountered 
was  a  small  tin  pannikin,  and  beyond  that  a  stone  jar,  or 
demijohn.     Upon  closer  inspection  I  found  this  last  to  be 


How  I  Saw  the  Ghost         169 

nearly  full  of  water  quite  sweet  and  fresh  to  the  taste, 
which,  of  itself,  was  sufficient  evidence  that  some  one  had 
been  here  very  lately.  I  now  observed  a  bundle  of  hay  in 
one  corner,  which  had  clearly  served  for  a  bed,  beside  which 
were  a  cracked  mug,  a  tin  plate,  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  an 
object  I  took  to  be  part  of  a  flute  or  wind  instrument  of 
some  kind.  But  what  particularly  excited  my  interest 
were  the  shoes,  which  had  evidently  seen  long  and  hard 
service,  for  they  were  much  worn,  and  had  been  roughly 
patched  here  and  there.  Very  big  they  were,  and  some- 
what clumsy,  thick-soled,  and  square  of  toe,  and  with  a 
pair  of  enormous  silver  buckles. 

These  evidences  led  me  to  believe  that  whoever  had  been 
here  before  was  likely  to  return,  and,  not  doubting  that  this 
must  be  he  who  had  played  the  part  of  ghost  so  well,  I 
determined  to  be  ready  for  him. 

So,  leaving  all  things  as  I  found  them,  I  descended,  and, 
having  closed  the  trap,  hung  up  the  ladder  as  I  had 
found  it. 

In  the  first  of  the  rooms  there  was  a  rough  fireplace  built 
into  one  corner,  and  as  the  air  struck  somewhat  damp  and 
chill,  I  went  out  and  gathered  a  quantity  of  twigs  and  dry 
wood,  and  had  soon  built  a  cheerful,  crackling  fire.  I  now 
•  set  about  collecting  armfuls  of  dry  leaves,  which  I  piled 
against  the  wall  for  a  bed.  By  the  time  this  was  com- 
pleted to  my  satisfaction,  the  moon  was  peeping  above  the 
treetops,  filling  the  Hollow  with  far-flung  shadows. 

I  now  lay  down  upon  my  leafy  couch,  and  fell  to  watch- 
ing the  fire  and  listening  to  the  small,  soft  song  of  the 
brook  outside.  In  the  opposite  wall  was  a  window,  the 
glass  of  which  was  long  since  gone,  through  which  I  could 
see  a  square  of  sky,  and  the  glittering  belt  of  Orion.  My 
eyes  wandered  from  this  to  the  glow  of  the  fire  many  times, 
but  gradually  my  head  grew  heavier  and  heavier,  until,  at 
length,  the  stars  became  confused  with  the  winking  sparks 
upon  the  hearth,  and  the  last  that  I  remember  was  that 
the  crackle  of  the  fire  sounded  strangely  like  the  voice  of 
the  Ancient  croaking: 


lyo  The  Broad  Highway 

"A  hijious  thing,  Peter,  a  hijious  thing!  '* 

I  must  have  slept  for  an  hour,  or  nearer  two  (for  the 
room  was  dark,  save  for  a  few  glowing  embers  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  faint  light  of  the  stars  at  the  window), 
when  I  suddenly  sat  bolt  upright,  with  every  tingling  nerve 
straining  as  if  to  catch  something  which  had,  but  that  very 
moment,  eluded  me.  I  was  yet  wondering  what  this  could 
be,  when,  from  somewhere  close  outside  the  cottage,  there 
rose  a  sudden  cry  —  hideous  and  appalling  —  a  long- 
drawn-out,  bubbling  scream  (no  other  words  can  describe 
it),  that  died  slowly  down  to  a  wail  only  to  rise  again 
higher  and  higher,  till  it  seemed  to  pierce  my  very  brain. 
Then  all  at  once  it  was  gone,  and  silence  rushed  in  upon  me 
—  a  silence  fraught  with  fear  and  horror  unimaginable. 

I  lay  rigid,  the  blood  in  my  veins  jumping  with  every 
throb  of  my  heart  till  it  seemed  to  shake  me  from  head  to 
foot.  And  then  the  cry  began  again,  deep  and  hoarse  at 
first,  but  rising,  rising  until  the  air  thrilled  with  a  scream 
such  as  no  earthly  lips  could  utter. 

Now  the  light  at  the  window  grew  stronger  and  stronger, 
and,  all  at  once,  a  feeble  shaft  of  moonlight  crept  across  the 
floor.  I  was  watching  this  most  welcome  beam  when  it 
was  again  obscured  by  a  something,  indefinable  at  first,  but 
which  I  gradually  made  out  to  be  very  like  a  human  head 
peering  in  at  me ;  but,  if  this  was  so,  it  seemed  a  head  hid- 
eously misshapen  —  and  there,  sure  enough,  rising  from  the 
brow,  was  a  long,  pointed  horn. 

As  I  lay  motionless,  staring  at  this  thing,  my  hand,  by 
some  most  fortunate  chance,  encountered  the  pistol  in  my 
pocket;  and,  from  the  very  depths  of  my  soul,  I  poured 
benedictions  upon  the  honest  head  of  Simon  the  Innkeeper, 
for  its  very  contact  seemed  to  restore  my  benumbed  facul- 
ties. With  a  single  bound  I  was  upon  my  feet,  and  had  the 
weapon  levelled  at  the  window. 

"  Speak !  "  said  I,  "  speak,  or  I  '11  shoot."  There  was  a 
moment  of  tingling  suspense,  and  then: 

"  Oh,  man,  dinna  do  that !  "  said  a  voice. 

"  Then  come  in  and  show  yourself !  " 


How  I  Saw  the  Ghost         171 

Herewith  the  head  incontinently  disappeared,  there  was 
the  sound  of  a  heavy  step,  and  a  tall  figure  loomed  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Wait !  "  said  I,  as,  fumbling  about,  I  presently  found 
tinder-box  and  candle,  having  lighted  which  I  turned  and 
beheld  a  man  —  an  exceedingly  tall  man  —  clad  in  the 
full  habit  of  a  Scottish  Highlander.  By  his  side  hung  a 
long,  straight,  basket-hilted  sword,  beneath  one  arm  he 
carried  a  bagpipe,  while  upon  his  head  was  —  not  a  horn 
—  but  a  Scot's  bonnet  with  a  long  eagle's  feather. 

"  Oh,  man,"  said  he,  eyeing  me  with  a  somewhat  wry 
smile,  "  I  'm  juist  thinkin'  ye  're  no'  af eared  o'  bogles, 
whateffer !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVin 


THE    HIGHLAND    PIPER 


"  Who  are  you?  "  said  I,  in  no  very  gentle  tone. 

"  Donal  's  my  name,  sir,  an'  if  ye  had  an  e'e  for  the 
tartan,  ye  'd  ken  I  was  a  Stuart.'* 

"  And  what  do  you  want  here,  Donald  Stuart.?  " 

"  The  verra  question  she  'd  be  askin'  ye'sel'  —  wha'  gars 
ye  tae  come  gowkin'  an'  spierin'  aboot  here  at  sic  an  hour?" 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  live  here,  for  the  future,"  said  I. 

"  Hoot  toot!   ye  '11  be  no  meanin'  it?  " 

"  But  I  do  mean  it,"  said  I. 

"  Eh,  man  !  but  ye  maun  ken  the  place  is  no  canny,  what 
wi'  pixies,  an'  warlocks,  an'  kelpies,  forbye  —  " 

"  Indeed,  they  told  me  it  was  haunted,  but  I  detennined 
to  see  for  myself." 

"Weel?" 

*'  Well,  I  am  glad  to  find  it  haunted  by  nothing  worse 
than  a  wandering  Scots  piper." 

The  Highlander  smiled  his  wry  smile,  and  taking  out  a 
snuff-box,  inhaled  a  pinch,  regarding  me  the  while. 

"  Ye  're  the  first  as  ever  stayed  —  after  they  'd  heard 
the  first  bit  squeakie,  tae  find  out  if  't  were  a  real  bogle 
or  no." 

"  But  how  in  the  world  did  you  make  such  awful 
sounds  ? " 

"  I'm  thinkin'  it's  the  bit  squeakie  ye '11  be  meanin'?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  Yes  ;  how  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  juist  the  pipes !  "  he  answered,  patting  them 
affectionately,  "  will  I  show  ye  the  noo?  " 


The  Highland  Piper  173 

"  Pray  do,"  said  I.  Hereupon  he  set  the  mouthpiece  to 
his  hps,  inflated  the  bag,  stopped  the  vents  with  his  fingers, 
and  immediately  the  air  vibrated  with  the  bubbling  scream 
I  have  already  attempted  to  describe. 

"  Oh,  man ! "  he  exclaimed,  laying  the  still  groaning 
instrument  gently  aside,  "  oh,  man !  is  it  no  juist 
won'erful?  " 

"  But  what  has  been  your  object  in  terrifying  people 
out  of  their  wits  in  this  manner?" 

"  Sir,  it 's  a'  on  account  o'  the  snuff." 

"Snuff!"  I  repeated. 

"  Juist  that !  "  he  nodded. 

"  Snuff,"  said  I  again ;  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  Piper  smiled  again  —  a  slow  smile,  that  seemingly 
dawned  only  to  vanish  again ;  it  was,  indeed,  if  I  may  so 
express  it,  a  grave  and  solemn  smile,  and  his  nearest  ap- 
proach to  mirth,  for  not  once  in  the  days  which  followed 
did  I  ever  see  him  give  vent  to  a  laugh.  I  here  also  take 
the  opportunity  to  say  that  I  have  greatly  modified  his 
speech  in  the  writing,  for  it  was  so  broad  that  I  had  much 
ado  to  grasp  his  meaning  at  times. 

The  Piper  smiled,  then,  and,  unwinding  the  plaid  from 
his  shoulder,  spread  it  upon  the  floor,  and  sat  down. 

"  Ye  maun  ken,"  he  began,  "  that  I  hae  muckle  love  for 
the  snuff,  an'  snuff  is  unco  expenseeve  in  these  parts." 

"Well.?"  said  I. 

"Ye  maun  ken,  in  the  second  place,  that  ma  brither 
Alan  canna'  abide  the  snuff." 

"  Your  brother  Alan !  "  said  I  wondering. 

"  Ma  brither  Alan,"  he  nodded  gravely. 

"  But  what  of  him,  what  has  he  to  do  with  —  " 

"  Man,  bide  a  wee.     I  'm  comin'  tae  that." 

"  Go  on,  then,"  said  I,  "  I  'm  listening." 

"  Weel,  I  'd  hae  ye  tae  ken  I  'm  a  braw,  bonnie  piper, 
an'  ma  brither  Alan,  he  's  a  bonnie  piper  too  —  no  sic  a 
fair  graund  piper  as  me,  bein'  somewhat  uncertain  wi'  his 
*  warblers,'  ye  ken,  but  a  bonnie  piper,  whateffer.  Aweel, 
mebbe  a  year  syne,  I  fell  in  love  wi'  a  lassie,  which  wad 


174  The  Broad  Highway 

ha'  been  a'  richt  if  ma  brither  Alan  hadna'  fallen  in  love 
wi'  her  too,  so  that  she,  puir  lassie,  didna'  ken  which  tae 
tak'.  *  Donal,'  says  Alan,  '  can  ye  no  love  anither  lassie ; 
she  can  no  marry  the  twa  o'  us,  that 's  sure ! '  *  Then, 
Alan,'  says  I,  'we'll  juist  play  for  her.'  Which  I  think 
ye '11  own  was  a  graund  idee,  only  the  lassie  couldna'  juist 
mak'  up  her  mind  which  o'  us  piped  the  best.  So  the  end 
of  it  was  we  agreed,  ma  brither  Alan  an'  I,  to  pipe  oor 
way  through  England  for  a  year,  an'  the  man  wha  came 
back  wi'  the  maist  siller  should  wed  the  lassie." 

"  And  a  very  fair  proposal,"  said  I,  "  but  —  " 

"  Wheest,  man !  juist  here  's  where  we  come  to  the  snuff, 
for,  look  ye,  every  time  I  bought  a  paper  o'  snuff  I  minded 
me  that  ma  brither  Alan,  not  takkin'  it  himself,  was  so 
much  siller  tae  the  gude  —  an'  —  oh,  man !  it  used  tae 
grieve  me  sair  —  till,  one  day,  I  lighted  on  this  bit 
hoosie." 

"Well.?"  said  I. 

"What,  d'ye  no  see  it.?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  answered. 

"  Eh,  man !  ma  brither  Alan  doesna'  buy  the  snuff,  but 
he  must  hae  a  roof  tae  shelter  him  an'  a  bed  tae  lie  in  o' 
nights,  an'  pay  for  it  too,  ye  ken,  fourpence,  or  a  bawbee, 
or  a  shillin',  as  the  case  may  be,  whiles  here  I  hae  baith  for 
the  takkin'.  An',  oh,  man !  many  's  the  nicht  I  've  slept 
the  sweeter  for  thinkin'  o'  that  saxpence  or  shillin'  that 
Alan  's  a-partin'  wi'  for  a  bed  little  better  than  mine.  So, 
wishfu'  tae  keep  this  bit  hoosie  tae  mysel'  —  seein'  't  was 
haunted  as  they  ca'  it  —  I  juist  kep'  up  the  illusion  on 
account  o'  trampers,  wanderin'  gypsies,  an'  sic-like  dirty 
tykes.  Eh !  but  't  was  fair  graund  tae  see  'em  rinnin' 
awa'  as  if  the  de'il  were  after  them,  spierin'  back  o'er 
their  shoulders,  an'  a'  by  reason  of  a  bit  squeakie  o'  the 
pipes,  here.     An'  so,  sir,  ye  hae  it." 

I  now  proceeded  to  build  and  relight  the  fire,  during 
which  the  Scot  drew  a  packet  of  bread  and  cheese  from  his 
sporran,  together  with  a  flask  which,  having  uncorked,  he 
held  out  to  me  with  the  one  word,  "  Whuskey ! " 


The  Highland  Piper  175 

"  Thank  you,  Donald,  but  I  rarely  drink  anything 
stronger  than  ale,"  said  I. 

"  Aweel !  "  said  he,  "  if  ye  winna',  ye  winna',  an'  there  's 
but  a  wee  drappie  left,  tae  be  sure."  Whereupon,  after 
two  or  three  generous  gulps,  he  addressed  himself  to  his 
bread  and  cheese,  and  I,  following  his  example,  took  out 
the  edibles  Simon  had  provided. 

"  An'  ye  're  minded  tae  bide  here,  ye  tell  me  ?  "  he  in- 
quired after  a  while. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded,  "  but  that  need  not  interfere  with 
you  —  two  can  live  here  as  easily  as  one,  and,  now  that  I 
have  had  a  good  look  at  you,  I  think  we  might  get  along 
very  well  together." 

"  Sir,"  said  he  solemnly,  "  my  race  is  royal  —  I  am  a 
Stuart  —  here  's  a  Stuart's  hand,"  and  he  reached  out 
his  hand  to  me  across  the  hearth  with  a  gesture  that  was 
full  of  a  reposeful  dignity.  Indeed,  I  never  remember  to 
have  seen  Donald  anything  but  dignified. 

"  How  do  you  find  life  in  these  parts  .-^  "  I  inquired. 

"  Indeeff erent,  sir  —  vera  indeefferent !  Tae  be  sure,  at 
fairs  an'  sic-like  I  've  often  had  as  much  as  ten  shillin'  in 
ma  bonnet  at  a  time;  but  it's  juist  the  kilties  that  draw 
'em ;  they  hae  no  real  love  for  the  pipes,  whateffer !  A 
rantin'  reel  pleases  'em  well  eneugh,  but  eh!  they  hae  no 
hankerin'  for  the  gude  music." 

"  That  is  a  question  open  to  argument,  Donald,"  said 
I ;  "  can  any  one  play  real  music  on  a  bagpipe,  think 
you?  " 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  Scot,  setting  down  the  empty  flask 
and  frowning  darkly  at  the  fire,  "  the  pipes  is  the  king 
of  a'  instruments,  't  is  the  sweetest,  the  truest,  the  oldest, 
whateffer !  " 

"  True,  it  is  very  old,"  said  I  thoughtfully ;  "  it  was 
known,  I  believe,  to  the  Greeks,  and  we  find  mention  of  it 
in  the  Latin  as  '  tibia  utricularia ; '  Suetonius  tells  us  that 
Nero  promised  to  appear  publicly  as  a  bagpiper.  Then, 
too,  Chaucer's  Miller  played  a  bagpipe,  and  Shakespeare 
frequently  mentions  the  '  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  Bag- 


176  The  Broad  Highway 

pipe.'  Yes,  it  is  certainly  a  very  old,  and,  I  think,  a  very 
barbarous  instrument." 

"  Hoot  toot !  the  man  talks  like  a  muckle  fule,"  said 
Donald,  nodding  to  the  fire. 

"  For  instance,"  I  continued,  "  there  can  be  no  compari- 
son between  a  bagpipe  and  a  —  fiddle,  say." 

"  A  fiddle !  "  exclaimed  Donald  in  accents  of  withering 
scorn,  and  still  addressing  the  fire.  "  Ye  can  juist  tell 
him  tae  gang  tae  the  de'il  wi'  his  fiddle." 

"  Music  is,  I  take  it,  the  expression  of  one's  mood  or 
thought,  a  dream  translated  into  sound,"  said  I  thought- 
fully, "  therefore  —  " 

"  Hae  ye  ever  heard  the  pipes  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  but  long  ago." 

"  Then,"  said  Donald,  "  ye  shall  juist  hear  'em  again." 
So  saying,  he  wiped  his  mouth,  took  up  his  instrument, 
and  began  slowly  inflating  it. 

Then,  all  at  once,  from  drones  and  chanter  there  rushed 
forth  such  a  flood  of  melody  as  seemed  to  sweep  me  away 
upon  its  tide. 

First  I  seemed  to  hear  a  roar  of  wind  through  desolate 
glens,  a  moan  of  trees,  and  a  rush  of  sounding  waters ; 
yet  softly,  softly  there  rises  above  the  flood  of  sound  a 
little  rippling  melody  which  comes,  and  goes,  and  comes 
again,  growing  ever  sweeter  with  repetition.  And  now 
the  roar  of  wind  is  changed  to  the  swing  of  marching 
feet,  the  tread  of  a  mighty  host  whose  step  is  strong  and 
free ;  and  lo !  they  are  singing,  as  they  march,  and  the 
song  is  bold  and  wild,  wild,  wild.  Again  and  again, 
beneath  the  song,  beneath  the  rhythm  of  marching  feet, 
the  melody  rises,  very  sweet  but  infinitely  sad,  like  a  silver 
pipe  or  an  angel's  voice  tremulous  with  tears.  Once  again 
the  theme  changes,  and  it  is  battle,  and  death,  sudden, 
»nd  sharp;  there  is  the  rush  and  shock  of  charging 
ranks,  and  the  surge  and  tumult  of  conflict,  above  whose 
thunder,  loud  and  clear  and  shrill,  hke  some  battle-cry, 
the  melody  swells,  one  moment  triumphant,  and  the  next 
lost  again. 


The  Highland  Piper  177 

But  the  thunder  rolls  away,  distant  and  more  distant 
—  the  day  is  lost,  and  won ;  but,  sudden  and  clear,  the 
melody  rings  out  once  more,  fuller  now,  richer,  and  com- 
plete; the  silver  pipe  has  become  a  golden  trumpet.  And 
yet,  what  sorrow,  what  anguish  unspeakable  rings  through 
it,  the  weeping  and  wailing  of  a  nation!  So  the  melody 
sinks  slowly,  to  die  away  in  one  long-drawn,  minor  note, 
and  Donald  is  looking  across  at  me  with  his  grave  smile, 
and  I  will  admit  both  his  face  and  figure  are  sadly  blurred. 

"  Donald,"  said  I,  after  a  little,  "  Donald,  I  will  never 
speak  against  the  pipes  again;  they  are  indeed  the  king 
of  all  instruments  —  played  as  you  play  them." 

"  Ou  ay,  I  'm  a  bonnie  piper,  I  '11  no  deny  it !  "  he  an- 
swered. "  I  'm  glad  ye  like  it,  for,  Sassenach  though  ye 
be,  it  proves  ye  hae  the  music.  'T  is  a  bit  pibroch  I  made 
tae  Wullie  Wallace  —  him  as  the  damned  Sassenach  mur- 
dered —  black  be  their  fa'.  Aweel !  't  was  done  afore  your 
time  or  mine  —  so  —  gude-nict  tae  ye,  Southeron !  "  Say- 
ing which,  he  rose,  saluted  me  stiffly,  and  stalked  majesti- 
cally to  bed. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

HOW    BLACK    GEORGE    A>ID    I    SHOOK    HANDS 

The  world  was  full  of  sunshine,  the  blithe  song  of  birds, 
and  the  sweet,  pure  breath  of  waking  flowers  as  I  rose 
next  morning,  and,  coming  to  the  stream,  threw  myself 
down  beside  it  and  plunged  my  hands  and  arms  and  head 
into  the  limpid  water  whose  contact  seemed  to  fill  me  with 
a  wondrous  gladness  in  keeping  with  the  world  about  me. 

In  a  little  while  I  rose,  with  the  water  dripping  from  me, 
and  having  made  shift  to  dry  myself  upon  my  neckcloth, 
nothing  else  being  available,  returned  to  the  cottage. 

Above  my  head  I  could  hear  a  gentle  sound  rising  and 
falling  with  a  rhythmic  measure,  that  told  me  Donald  still 
slept;  so,  clapping  on  my  hat  and  coat,  I  started  out  to 
my  first  day's  work  at  the  forge,  breakfastless,  for  the 
good  and  sufficient  reason  that  there  was  none  to  be  had, 
but  full  of  the  glad  pure  beauty  of  the  morning.  And  I 
bethought  me  of  the  old  Psalmist's  deathless  words : 
"  Though  sorrow  endure  for  a  night,  yet  joy  cometh  in 
the  morning  '*  (brave,  true  words  which  shall  go  ringing 
down  the  ages  to  bear  hope  and  consolation  to  many  a 
wearied,  troubled  soul)  ;  for  now,  as  I  climbed  the  steep 
path  where  bats  had  hovered  last  night,  and  turned  to  look 
back  at  the  pit  which  had  seemed  a  place  of  horror  — 
behold !  it  was  become  a  very  paradise  of  quivering  green, 
spangled  with  myriad  jewels  where  the  dew  yet  clung. 

Indeed,  if  any  man  would  experience  the  full  ecstasy  of 
being  alive  —  the  joi  de  vivre  as  the  French  have  it  —  let 
him  go  out  into  the  early  morning,  when  the  sun  is  young, 
and  look  about  him  with  a  seeing  eye. 


Black  George  and  I  Shake  Hands     179 

So,  in  a  little  wliile,  with  the  golden  song  of  a  black- 
bird in  my  ears,  I  turned  village- wards,  very  hungry,  yet, 
nevertheless,  content. 

Long  before  I  reached  the  smithy  I  could  hear  the  ring 
of  Black  George's  hammer,  though  the  village  was  not  yet 
astir,  and  it  was  with  some  trepidation  as  to  my  reception 
that  I  approached  the  open  doorway. 

There  he  stood,  busy  at  his  an\al,  goodly  to  look  upon 
in  his  bare-armed  might,  and  with  the  sun  shining  in  his 
yellow  hair,  a  veritable  son  of  Anak.  He  might  have  been 
some  hero,  or  demigod  come  back  from  that  dim  age  when 
angels  wooed  the  daughters  of  men,  rather  than  a  village 
blacksmith,  and  a  very  sulky  one  at  that ;  for  though  he 
must  have  been  aware  of  my  presence,  he  never  glanced 
up  or  gave  the  slightest  sign  of  welcome,  or  the  reverse. 

Now,  as  I  watched,  I  noticed  a  certain  slowness  —  a 
heaviness  in  all  his  movements  —  together  with  a  listless, 
slipshod  air  which,  I  judged,  was  very  foreign  to  him; 
moreover,  as  he  worked,  I  thought  he  hung  his  head  lower 
than  was  quite  necessary. 

"  George !  "  George  went  on  hammering.  "  George !  " 
said  I  again.  He  raised  the  hammer  for  another  stroke, 
hesitated,  then  lifted  his  head  with  a  jerk,  and  immediately 
I  knew  why  he  had  avoided  my  eye. 

"  What  do  'ee  want  wi'  me.?  " 

"  I  have  come  for  two  reasons,"  said  I ;  "  one  is  to  begin 
work  —  " 

"  Then  ye  'd  best  go  away  again,"  he  broke  in ;  "  ye  '11 
get  no  work  here." 

"  And  the  second,"  I  went  on,  "  is  to  offer  you  my  hand. 
Will  you  take  it,  George,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones .''  " 

"  No,"  he  burst  out  vehemently.  "  No,  I  tell  'ee.  Ye 
think  to  come  'ere  an'  crow  o'er  me,  because  ye  beat  me, 
by  a  trick,  and  because  ye  heerd  —  her  —  "  His  voice 
broke,  and,  dropping  his  hammer,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
me.  "  Called  me  '  coward ' !  she  did,"  he  went  on  after 
a  little  while.  "  You  heerd  her —  they  all  heerd  her !  I  've 
been  a  danged  fule ! "  he  said,  more  as  if  speaking  his 


i8o  The  Broad  Highway 

thoughts  aloud  than  addressing  me,  "  but  a  man  can't  help 
lovin'  a  lass  —  like  Prue,  and  when  'e  loves  'e  can't  'elp 
hopin'.  I  've  hoped  these  three  years  an'  more,  and  last 
night  —  she  called  me  —  coward."  Something  bright  and 
glistening  splashed  down  upon  the  anvil,  and  there  ensued 
a  silence  broken  only  by  the  piping  of  the  birds  and  the 
stirring  of  the  leaves  outside. 

"  A  fule  I  be !  "  said  Black  George  at  last,  shaking  his 
head,  "  no  kind  o'  man  for  the  likes  o'  her ;  too  big  I  be 
—  and  rough.  And  yet  —  if  she  'd  only  given  me  the 
chance ! " 

Again  there  fell  a  silence  wherein,  mingled  with  the 
bird-chorus,  came  the  tap,  tapping  of  a  stick  upon  the 
hard  road,  and  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  ;  where- 
upon George  seized  the  handle  of  the  bellows  and  fell  to 
blowing  the  fire  vigorously ;  yet  once  I  saw  him  draw  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes  with  a  quick,  furtive  ges- 
ture. A  moment  after,  the  Ancient  appeared,  a  quaint, 
befrocked  figure,  framed  in  the  yawning  doorway  and 
backed  by  the  glory  of  the  morning.  He  stood  awhile 
to  lean  upon  his  stick  and  peer  about,  his  old  eyes  still 
dazzled  by  the  sunlight  he  had  just  left,  owing  to  which 
he  failed  to  see  me  where  I  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  forge. 

"  Mamin',  Jarge !  "  said  he,  with  his  quick,  bright  nod. 
The  smith's  scowl  was  blacker  and  his  deep  voice  gruffer 
than  usual  as  he  returned  the  greeting;  but  the  old  man 
seemed  to  heed  it  not  at  all,  but,  taking  his  snuff-box  from 
the  lining  of  his  tall,  broad-brimmed  hat  (its  usual  abid- 
ing place),  he  opened  it,  with  his  most  important  air. 

"  Jarge,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  thinkin'  ye  'd  better  tak'  Job 
back  to  strike  for  ye  again  if  you  'm  goin'  to  mend  t'  owd 
screen." 

"  What  d'  ye  mean .''  "  growled  Black  George. 

"  Because,"  continued  the  old  man,  gathering  a  pinch 
of  snuff  with  great  deliberation,  "  because,  Jarge,  the 
young  feller  as  beat  ye  at  the  throwin'  —  'im  as  was  to 
'ave  worked  for  ye  at  'is  own  price  —  be  dead." 

"  What !  "  cried  Black  George,  starting. 


Black  George  and  I  Shake  Hands     1 8 1 


"  Dead !  "  nodded  the  old  man,  "  a  corp'  'e  be  —  eh ! 
such  a  fine,  promisin'  young  chap,  an'  now  —  a  corp'." 
Here  the  Ancient  nodded  solemnly  again,  three  times,  and 
inhaled  his  pinch  of  snuff  with  great  apparent  zest  and 
enjoyment. 

"  Why  —  "  began  the  amazed  George,  "  what  —  "  and 
broke  off  to  stare,  open-mouthed. 

"  Last  night,  as  ever  was,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  'e 
went  down  to  th'  'aunted  cottage  —  't  were  n't  no  manner 
o'  use  tryin'  to  turn  'im,  no,  not  if  I  'd  gone  down  to  'ini 
on  my  marrer-bones  —  'e  were  that  set  on  it ;  so  off  he 
goes,  'bout  sundown,  to  sleep  in  th'  'aunted  cottage  —  I 
knows,  Jarge,  'cause  I  follered  un,  an'  seen  for  myself; 
so  now  I  'm  a-goin'  down  to  find  'is  corp'  —  " 

He  had  reached  thus  far,  when  his  eye,  accustomed  to 
the  shadows,  chancing  to  meet  mine,  he  uttered  a  gasp, 
and  stood  staring  at  me  with  dropped  jaw. 

"  Peter !  "  he  stammered  at  last.  "  Peter  —  be  that  you, 
Peter.?" 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  said  I. 

"  Bean't  ye  —  dead,  then.?  " 

"  I  never  felt  more  full  of  life." 

"  But  ye  slep'  in  th'  'aunted  cottage  last  night." 

"  Yes." 

"But  — but— the  ghost,  Peter.?" 

"  Is  a  wandering  Scotsman." 

"  Why  then  I  can't  go  down  and  find  ye  corp'  arter 
all.?  " 

"  I  fear  not.  Ancient." 

The  old  man  slowly  closed  his  snuff-box,  shaking  his 
head  as  he  did  so. 

"  Ah,  well !  I  won't  blame  ye,  Peter,"  said  he  magnan- 
imously ;  "  it  bean't  your  fault,  lad,  no  —  but  what 's  come 
to  the  ghost !  " 

"  The  ghost,"  I  answered,  "  is  nothing  more  dreadful 
than  a  wandering  Scotsman !  " 

"  Scotsman  !  "  exclaimed  the  Ancient  sharply.  "  Scots- 
man !  " 


i8  2  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Yes,  Ancient." 

**  You  'm  mazed,  Peter  —  ah !  mazed  ye  be !  What, 
are  n't  I  heerd  un  moanin'  an'  groanin'  to  'isself  —  ah ! 
an'  twitterin'  tu?" 

"  As  to  that,"  said  I,  "  those  shrieks  and  howls  he  made 
with  his  bagpipe,  very  easy  for  a  skilled  player  such  as  he." 

Some  one  was  drawing  water  from  a  well  across  the  road, 
for  I  heard  the  rattle  of  the  bucket,  and  the  creak  of  the 
winch,  in  the  pause  which  now  ensued,  during  which  the 
Ancient,  propped  upon  his  stick,  surveyed  me  with  an  ex- 
pression that  was  not  exactly  anger,  npr  contempt,  nor 
sorrow,  and  yet  something  of  all  three.  At  length  he 
sighed,  and  shook  his  head  at  me  mournfully. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  "  Peter,  I  did  n't  think  as  you  'd  try 
to  tak'  'vantage  of  a  old  man  wi'  a  tale  the  like  o'  that  — 
such  a  very,  very  old  man,  Peter  —  such  a  old,  old  man !  " 

"  But  I  assure  you,  it 's  the  truth,"  said  I  earnestly. 

"  Peter,  I  seen  Scotchmen  afore  now,"  said  he,  with  a 
reproachful  look,  "  ah !  that  I  'aVe,  many 's  the  time,  an' 
Scotchmen  don't  go  about  wi'  tails,  nor  yet  wi'  'orns  on 
their  'eads  —  leastways  I  've  never  seen  one  as  did.  An', 
Peter,  I  know  what  a  bagpipe  is ;  I  've  heerd  'em  often 
an'  often  —  squeak  they  do,  yes,  but  a  squeak  bean't  a 
scream,  Peter,  nor  yet  a  groan  —  no."  Having  delivered 
himself  of  which,  the  Ancient  shook  his  head  at  me  again, 
and,  turning  his  back,  hobbled  away. 

When  I  turned  to  look  at  George,  it  was  to  find  him 
regarding  me  with  a  very  strange  expression. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  ponderously,  "  did  you  sleep  in  th' 
'aunted  cottage  last  night?  " 

"  Yes,  though,  as  I  have  tried  to  explain,  and  unsuc- 
cessfully it  seems,  it  is  haunted  by  nothing  more  alarming 
than  a  Scots  Piper." 

"  Sir,"  said  George,  in  the  same  slow,  heavy  way,  "  I 
could  n't  go  a-nigh  the  place  myself  —  'specially  arter 
dark  —  I  'd  be  —  ah !  I  'd  be  afeard  to !  I  did  go  once, 
and  then  not  alone,  and  I  ran  away.  Sir,  you'm  a  better 
man  nor  me ;    you  done  what  I  durst  n't  do.     Sir,  if  so 


Black  George  and  I  Shake  Hands     183 

be  as  you  'm  in  the  same  mind  about  it  —  I  should  like 
to  —  to  shake  your  hand." 

So  there,  across  the  anvil  which  was  to  link  our  lives 
together  thenceforth,  Black  George  and  I  clasped  hands, 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  George,"  said  I  at  last,  "  I  've  had  no  breakfast." 

"  Nor  I !  "  said  George. 

"  And  I  'm  mightily  hungry !  " 

"  So  am  I,"  said  George. 

"  Then  come,  and  let  us  eat,"  and  I  turned  to  the  door. 

"Why,  so  we  will  —  but  not  at  —  '  The  Bull' —  she 
be  theer.  Come  to  my  cottage  —  it  be  close  by  —  that 
is,  if  you  care  to,  sir.f*  " 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  said  I,  "  and  my  name  is  — 
Peter." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  'am  and  eggs  —  Peter  ?  " 

"  Ham  and  eggs  will  be  most  excellent !  "  said  I. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

IN    WHICH    I    FORSWEAR    MYSELF    AND    AM    ACCUSED 
OF    POSSESSING    THE    "  EVIL    EYE  " 

Smithing  is  a  sturdy,  albeit  a  very  black  art;  yet  its 
black  is  a  good,  honest  black,  very  easily  washed  off,  which 
is  more  than  can  be  said  for  many  other  trades,  arts,  and 
professions. 

Yes,  a  fine,  free,  manly  art  is  smithing,  and  those  who 
labor  at  the  forge  would  seem,  necessarily,  to  reflect  these 
virtues. 

Since  old  Tubal  Cain  first  taught  man  how  to  work  in 
brass  and  iron,  who  ever  heard  of  a  sneaking,  mean- 
spirited,  cowardly  blacksmith.''  To  find  such  an  one  were 
as  hard  a  matter  as  to  discover  the  Fourth  Dimension, 
methinks,  or  the  carcass  of  a  dead  donkey. 

Your  true  blacksmith  is  usually  a  strong  man,  something 
bowed  of  shoulder,  perhaps ;  a  man  slow  of  speech,  bold  of 
eye,  kindly  of  thought,  and,  lastly  —  simple-hearted. 

Riches,  Genius,  Power  —  all  are  fair  things ;  yet  Riches 
is  never  satisfied.  Power  is  ever  upon  the  wing,  and  when 
was  Genius  ever  happy.''  But,  as  for  this  divine  gift  of 
Simpleness  of  Heart,  who  shall  say  it  is  not  the  best  of  all .'' 

Black  George  himself  was  no  exception  to  his  kind ;  what 
wonder  was  it,  then,  that,  as  the  days  lengthened  into 
weeks,  my  liking  for  him  ripened  into  friendship.'' 

To  us,  sometimes  lonely,  voyagers  upon  this  Broad 
Highway  of  life,  journeying  on,  perchance  through  deso- 
late places,  yet  hoping  and  dreaming  ever  of  a  glorious 
beyond,  how  sweet  and  how  blessed  a  thing  it  is  to  meet 


The  <^Evil  Eye"  185 

some  fellow  wayfarer,  and  find  in  him  a  friend,  honest,  and 
loyal,  and  brave,  to  walk  with  us  in  the  sun,  whose  voice 
may  comfort  us  in  the  shadow,  whose  hand  is  stretched 
out  to  us  in  the  difficult  places  to  aid  us,  or  be  aided.  In- 
deed, I  say  again,  it  is  a  blessed  thing,  for  though  the 
way  is  sometimes  very  long,  such  meetings  and  friendships 
be  very  few  and  far  between. 

So,  as  I  say,  there  came  such  friendship  between 
Black  George  and  myself,  and  I  found  him  a  man, 
strong,  simple  and  lovable,  and  as  such  I  honor  him  to 
this  day. 

The  Ancient,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to  have  set  me  in 
his  "  black  books ;  "  he  would  no  longer  sit  with  me  over 
a  tankard  outside  "  The  Bull  "  of  an  evening,  nor  look  in 
at  the  forge,  with  a  cheery  nod  and  word,  as  had  been  his 
wont;  he  seemed  rather  to  shun  my  society,  and,  if  I  did 
meet  him  by  chance,  would  treat  me  with  the  frigid  dignity 
of  a  Grand  Seigneur.  Indeed,  the  haughtiest  duke  that 
ever  rolled  in  his  chariot  is  far  less  proud  than  your  plain 
English  rustic,  and  far  less  difficult  to  propitiate.  Thus, 
though  I  had  once  had  the  temerity  to  question  him  as  to 
his  altered  treatment  of  me,  the  once  had  sufficed.  He  was 
sitting,  I  remember,  on  the  bench  before  "  The  Bull,"  his 
hands  crossed  upon  his  stick  and  his  chin  resting  upon  his 
hands. 

"  Peter,"  he  had  answered,  regarding  me  with  a  terrible 
eye,  "  Peter,  I  be  disapp'inted  in  ye !  "  Hereupon  rising, 
he  had  rapped  loudly  upon  his  snuff-box  and  hobbled  stiffly 
away.  And  that  ended  the  matter,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, though,  to  be  sure,  Simon  had  interceded  in  my 
behalf  with  no  better  success;  and  thus  I  was  still  left 
wondering. 

One  day,  however,  as  George  and  I  were  hard  at  work, 
I  became  aware  of  some  one  standing  in  the  doorway 
behind  me,  but  at  first  paid  no  heed  (for  it  was  become  the 
custom  for  folk  to  come  to  look  at  the  man  who  lived  all 
alone  in  the  haunted  cottage),  so,  as  I  say,  I  worked  on 
heedlessly. 

"  Peter .''  "  said  a  voice  at  last  and,  turning,  I  beheld  the 


I  86  The  Broad  Highway 

old  man  leaning  upon  his  stick  and  regarding  me  beneath 
his  lowered  brows. 

"  Why,  Ancient !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  held  out  my  hand. 
But  he  checked  me  with  a  gesture,  and  fumblingly  took  out 
his  snuif-box. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  fixing  me  with  his  eye,  "  were  it  a 
Scotchman  or  were  it  not?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  it  was,"  I  answered,  "  a  Scotch  piper, 
as  I  told  you,  and  —  " 

"  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient,  tapping  his  snuff-box,  "  it 
were  n't  no  ghost,  then  —  ay  or  no." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  nothing  but  a  —  " 

"  Peter !  "  said  the  Ancient,  nodding  solemnly,  "  Peter, 
I  'ates  ye !  "  and,  turning  sharp  about,  he  tottered  away 
upon  his  stick. 

"  So  —  that 's  it !  "  said  I,  staring  after  the  old  man's 
retreating  figure. 

"  Why,  ye  see,"  said  George,  somewhat  diffidently,  "  ye 
see,  Peter,  Gaffer  be  so  old !  —  and  all  'is  friends  be  dead, 
and  he  've  come  to  look  on  this  'ere  ghost  as  belongin'  to 
'im  a'most.  Loves  to  sit  an'  tell  about  it,  'e  do ;  it  be  all 
'e  've  got  left  to  live  for,  as  ye  might  say,  and  now  you  've 
been  and  gone  and  said  as  theer  bean't  no  ghost  arter  all, 
d'  ye  see  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see,"  I  nodded,  "  I  see.  But  you  don't  still 
believe  in  this  ghost,  do  you,  George?  " 

"  N-o-o-o  —  not  'xactly,"  answered  George,  hesitating 
upon  the  word,  "  can't  say  as  I  believe  'xactly,  and  yet, 
Lord !   'ow  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  Then  you  do  still  believe  in  the  ghost?  " 

*'  Why,  y'  see,  Peter,  we  do  know  as  a  man  'ung  'isself 
theer,  'cause  Gaffer  found  un  —  likewise  I  've  heerd  it 
scream  —  but  as  for  believin'  in  it,  since  you  say  contrary- 
wise  —  why,  'ow  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  But  why  should  I  deny  it,  George ;  why  should  I  tell 
you  all  of  a  Scotsman  ?  " 

"  Why,  y'  see,  Peter,"  said  George,  in  his  heavy  way, 
"  you  be  such  a  strange  sort  o'  chap !  " 

"  George,"  said  I,  "  let  us  get  back  to  work." 


The  "Evil  Eye"  187 

Yet,  in  a  little  while,  I  set  aside  the  hammer,  and  turned 
to  the  door. 

"  Peter,  wheer  be  goin'  ?  " 

"  To  try  and  make  ray  peace  with  the  Ancient,"  I  an- 
swered, and  forthwith  crossed  the  road  to  "  The  Bull." 
But  with  my  foot  on  the  step  I  paused,  arrested  by  the 
sound  of  voices  and  laughter  within  the  tap,  and,  loudest 
of  all,  was  the  voice  of  the  pseudo  blacksmith.  Job. 

"  If  I  were  only  a  bit  younger !  "  the  Ancient  was  saying. 
Now,  peeping  in  through  the  casement,  a  glance  at  his  de- 
jected attitude,  and  the  blatant  bearing  of  the  others, 
explained  to  me  the  situation  then  and  there. 

"  Ah !  but  you  ain't,"  retorted  old  Amos,  "  you  'm  a  old, 
old  man  an'  gettin'  older  wi'  every  tick  o'  the  clock,  you 
be,  an'  gettin'  mazed-like  wi'  years." 

"  Haw !  haw !  "  laughed  Job  and  the  five  or  six  others. 

"  Oh,  you  —  Job !  if  my  b'y  Simon  was  'ere  'e  'd  pitch 
'ee  out  into  the  road,  so  'e  would  —  same  as  Black  Jarge 
done,"  quavered  the  Ancient. 

"  P'r'aps,  Gaffer,  p'r'aps !  "  returned  Job,  "  but  I  sez 
again,  I  believe  what  Peter  sez,  an'  I  don't  believe  there 
never  was  no  ghost  at  all." 

"  Ay,  lad,  but  I  tell  'ee  theer  was  —  I  seed  un !  "  cried 
the  old  man  eagerly,  "  seed  un  wi'  these  two  eyes,  many  's 
the  time.  You,  Joel  Amos  —  you  've  'eerd  un  a-moanin' 
an'  a-groanin'  —  you  believe  as  I  seed  un,  don't  'ee  now  — 
come.'*  " 

"  He !  he !  "  chuckled  Old  Amos,  "  I  don't  know  if  I  du. 
Gaffer  —  ye  see  you  'm  gettin'  that  old  —  " 

"  But  I  did  —  I  did  —  oh,  you  chaps,  I  tell  'ee  I  did !  " 

"  You  'm  gettin'  old,  Gaffer,"  repeated  Amos,  dwelling 
upon  the  theme  with  great  unction,  "  very,  very  old  —  " 

"  But  so  strong  as  a  bull,  I  be !  "  added  the  Ancient, 
trying  manfully  to  steady  the  quaver  in  his  voice. 

"  Haw !  haw !  "  laughed  Job  and  the  others,  while  Old 
Amos  chuckled  shrilly  again. 

"  But  I  tell  'ee  I  did  see  un,  I  —  I  see'd  un  plain  as 
plaiii,"  quavered  the  Ancient,  in  sudden  distress.  "  Old 
Nick  it  were,  wi'  'orns,  an'  a  tail." 


I  88  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Why,  Peter  told  us  't  were  only  a  Scottish  man  wi'  a 
bagpipe,"  returned  Job. 

"  Ay,  for  sure,"  nodded  Old  Amos,  "  so  'e  did." 

"  A  lie,  it  be  —  a  lie,  a  lie !  "  cried  the  Ancient,  "  't  were 
Old  Nick,  I  see  un  —  plain  as  I  see  you." 

"  Why,  ye  see,  you  'm  gettin'  dre'fful  old  an'  'elpless, 
Gaffer,"  chuckled  Old  Amos  again,  "  an'  your  eyes  plays 
tricks  wi'  you." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  they  do !  "  added  Job ;  whereupon  Old 
Amos  chuckled  so  much  that  he  was  taken  by  a  violent  fit 
of  coughing. 

"  Oh !  you  chaps,  you  as  I  've  seen  grow  up  from  babbies 
—  are  n't  theer  one  o'  ye  to  tak'  the  old  man's  word  an' 
believe  as  I  seen  un.''  "  The  cracked  old  voice  sounded 
more  broken  than  usual,  and  I  saw  a  tear  crawling  slowly 
down  the  Ancient's  furrowed  cheek.  Nobody  answered, 
and  there  fell  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  shuffle  and 
scrape  of  heavy  boots  and  the  setting  down  of  tankards. 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Gaffer,"  said  Job  at  last,  "  theer  's  been 
a  lot  o'  talk  o'  this  'ere  ghost,  an'  some  'as  even  said  as 
they  'eerd  it,  but,  come  to  think  on  it,  nobody  's  never  laid 
eyes  on  it  but  you,  so  —  " 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  my  fellow,"  said  I,  stepping  into 
the  room.     "  I  also  have  seen  it." 

"  You .''  "  exclaimed  Job,  while  half-a-dozen  pairs  of  eyes 
stared  at  me  in  slow  wonderment. 

"  Certainly  I  have." 

"  But  you  said  as  it  were  a  Scotchman,  wi'  a  bagpipe,  I 
heerd  ye  —  we  all  did." 

"  And  believed  it  —  like  fools !  " 

"  Peter !  "  cried  the  Ancient,  rising  up  out  of  his  chair, 
"  Peter,  do  'ee  mean  it  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do." 

"  Do  'ee  mean  it  were  a  ghost,  Peter,  do  'ee  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  it  was,"  I  nodded,  "  a  ghost,  or  the 
devil  himself,  hoof,  horns,  tail,  and  all  —  to  say  nothing  of 
the  fire  and  brimstone." 

"  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient,  straightening  his  bent  old 


*      The  "Evil  Eye"  189 

back  proudly,  "  oh,  Peter !  —  tell  'em  I  'm  a  man  o'  truth, 
an'  no  liar  —  tell  'em,  Peter." 

"  They  know  that,"  said  I ;  "  they  know  it  without  my 
telling  them,  Ancient." 

"  But,"  said  Job,  staring  at  me  aghast,  "  do  'ee  mean 
to  say  as  you  live  in  a  place  as  is  'aunted  by  the  —  devil 
'isself .?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord  bless  'ee !  "  cried  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand 
upon  my  arm,  "  Peter  don't  mind  Old  Nick  no  more  'n  I  do 
—  Peter  are  n't  afeard  of  'im.  'Cause  why  ?  'Cause  'e  'ave 
a  clean  'eart,  'ave  Peter.  You  don't  mind  Old  Nick,  do  'ee, 
lad?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  I,  whereupon  those  nearest  in- 
stinctively shrank  farther  from  me,  while  Old  Amos  rose 
and  shuffled  towards  the  door. 

"  I  've  heerd  o'  folk  sellin'  theirselves  to  the  devil  afore 
now !  "  said  he, 

"  You  be  a  danged  fule,  Joel  Amos ! "  exclaimed  the 
Ancient  angrily. 

"  Fule  or  no  —  I  never  see  a  chap  wi'  such  a  tur'ble 
dark-lookin'  face  afore,  an'  wi'  such  eyes  —  so  black,  an' 
sharp,  an'  piercin'  as  needles,  they  be  —  ah !  goes  through 
a  man  like  two  gimblets,  they  do !  "  Now,  as  he  spoke, 
Old  Amos  stretched  out  one  arm  towards  me  with  his  first 
and  second  fingers  crossed:  which  fingers  he  now  opened 
wide  apart,  making  what  I  believe  is  called  "  the  horns," 
and  an  infallible  safeguard  against  this  particular  form 
of  evil. 

"  It 's  the  '  Evil  Eye,'  "  said  he  in  a  half  whisper,  "  the 
'  Evil  Eye  ' !  "  and,  turning  about,  betook  himself  away. 

One  by  one  the  others  followed,  and,  as  they  passed  me, 
each  man  averted  his  eyes  and  I  saw  that  each  had  his 
fingers  crossed. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  I  was,  thenceforward,  regarded 
askance,  if  not  openly  avoided,  by  the  whole  village,  with 
the  exception  of  Simon  and  the  Ancient,  as  one  in  league 
with  the  devil,  and  possessed  of  the  "  Evil  Eye." 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

IN    WHICH    DONALD    BIDS    ME    FAREWELL 

Halcyon  days !  my  masters,  happy,  care-free,  halcyon 
days !  To  waken  to  the  glory  of  a  summer's  morning,  and 
shaking  off  dull  sleep,  like  a  mantle,  to  stride  out  into  a 
world  all  green  and  gold,  breathing  a  fragrant  air  laden 
with  sweet,  earthy  smells.  To  plunge  within  the  clear, 
cool  waters  of  the  brook  whose  magic  seemed  to  fill  one's 
blood  with  added  life  and  lust  of  living.  Anon,  with 
Gargantuan  appetite,  to  sit  and  eat  until  even  Donald 
would  fall  a-marvelling ;  and  so,  through  shady  coppice 
and  sunny  meadow,  betimes  to  work. 

Halcyon  days !  my  masters,  happy,  care-free,  halcyon 
days !  with  the  ringing  hammers,  the  dancing  sparks 
mounting  upon  the  smoke,  the  sweat,  the  toil,  yet  all  light- 
ened with  laugh  and  song  and  good-fellowship. 

And  then,  the  labor  done,  the  fire  dead  —  Black  George 
to  his  lonely  cottage,  and  I  to  "  The  Bull  "  —  there  to  sit 
between  Simon  and  the  Ancient,  waited  upon  by  the  dex- 
terous hands  of  sweet-eyed  Prudence.  What  mighty 
rounds  of  juicy  beef,  washed  down  by  draughts  of  good 
brown  ale !  What  pies  and  puddings,  prepared  by  those 
same  slender,  dexterous  hands !  And  later,  pipe  in  mouth, 
what  grave  discussions  upon  men  and  things  —  peace  and 
war  —  the  dead  and  the  living  —  the  rise  and  fall  of 
nations  —  and  Simon's  new  litter  of  pigs !  At  last,  the 
"  Good  nights  "  being  said  —  homeward  through  the  twi- 
lit  lanes,  often  pausing  to  look  upon  the  shadowy  woods, 
to  watch  some  star,  or  hearken  to  the  mournful  note  of  a 
night-jar,  soft  with  distance. 


Donald  Bids  me  Farewell       191 

What  wonder  if,  at  this  time,  my  earlier  dreams  and 
ambitions  faded  from  my  ken ;  what  wonder  that  Petro- 
nius  Arbiter,  and  the  jolly  Sieur  de  Brantome  lay  neg- 
lected in  my  dusty  knapsack. 

Go  to !  Petronius,  go  to !  How  "  stale,  flat,  and  un- 
profitable "  were  all  thy  vaunted  pleasures,  compared  with 
mine.  Alas !  for  thy  noble  intellect  draggled  in  the  mire 
to  pander  to  an  Imperial  Swine,  and  for  all  thy  power  and 
wise  statecraft  which  yet  could  not  save  thee  from  un- 
timely death. 

And  thou,  Brantome!  old  gossip,  with  all  thy  scan- 
dalous stories  of  ladies,  always  and  ever  "  tres  belle,  et 
fort  honnete,"  couldst  not  find  time  among  them  all  to 
note  the  glories  of  the  world  wherein  they  lived,  and 
moved,  and  had  their  "  fort  honnete  "  being.'' 

But  kt  it  not  be  thought  my  leisure  hours  were  passed 
in  idle  dreaming  and  luxurious  ease;  on  the  contrary,  I 
had,  with  much  ado,  rethatched  the  broken  roof  of  ray 
cottage  as  well  as  I  might,  mended  the  chimney,  fitted 
glass  to  the  casements  and  a  new  door  upon  its  hinges. 
This  last  was  somewhat  clumsily  contrived,  I  grant  you, 
and  of  a  vasty  strength  quite  unnecessary,  yet  a  very 
excellent  door  I  considered  it,  nevertheless. 

Having  thus  rendered  my  cottage  weather-proof,  I  next 
turned  my  attention  to  furnishing  it.  To  which  end  I,  in 
turn,  and  with  infinite  labor,  constructed  a  bedstead,  two 
elbow-chairs,  and  a  table;  all  to  the  profound  disgust  of 
Donald,  who  could  by  no  means  abide  the  rasp  of  my  saw, 
so  that,  reaching  for  his  pipes,  he  would  fill  the  air  with 
eldrich  shrieks  and  groans,  or  drown  me  in  a  torrent  of 
martial  melody. 

It  was  about  this  time  —  that  is  to  say,  my  second 
bedstead  was  nearing  completion,  and  I  was  seriously  con- 
sidering the  building  of  a  press  with  cupboards  to  hold  ray 
crockery,  also  a  shelf  for  my  books  —  when,  chancing  to 
return  home  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  I  was  surprised 
to  see  Donald  sitting  upon  the  bench  I  had  set  up  beside 


192  The  Broad  Highway 

the  door,  polishing  the  buckles  of  that  identical  pair  of 
square-toed  shoes  that  had  once  so  piqued  my  curiosity. 

As  I  approached  he  rose,  and  came  to  meet  me  with  the 
brogues  in  his  hand. 

"  Man,  Peter,"  said  he,  "  I  maun  juist  be  gangin'." 

"  Going !  "  I  repeated ;    "  going  where .''  " 

*'  Back  tae  Glenure  —  the  year  is  a'most  up,  ye  ken, 
an'  I  wadna'  hae  ma  brither  Alan  afore  me  wi'  the  lassie, 
forbye  he  's  an  unco  braw  an'  sonsy  man,  ye  ken,  an'  a 
lassie's  mind  is  aye  a  kittle  thing." 

"  True,"  I  answered,  "  what  little  I  know  of  womar,. 
would  lead  me  to  suppose  so ;  and  yet  —  Heaven  knows  r 
I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  Donald." 

"  Ay  —  I  ken  that  fine,  an'  ye  '11  be  unco  lonesome 
wi'out  me  an'  the  pipes,  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"  Very !  " 

"  Eh,  Peter,  man !  if  it  wasna'  for  the  lassie,  I  'd  no  hae 
the  heart  tae  leave  ye.  Ye  '11  no  be  forgettin'  the  '  Wullie 
Wallace  Lament ' .?  " 

"  Never !  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  man,  Peter !  it 's  in  my  mind  ye  '11  no  hear  sic 
pipin'  again,  forbye  there 's  nae  man  —  Hielander  nor 
Lowlander  —  has  juist  the  trick  o'  the  *  warblers  '  like  me, 
an'  it 's  no  vera  like  we  shall  e'er  meet  again  i'  this  warld, 
man,  Peter.  But  I  '11  aye  think  o'  ye  —  away  there  in 
Glenure,  when  I  play  the  '  Wullie  Wallace  '  bit  tune  —  I  '11 
aye  think  o'  ye,  Peter,  man." 

After  this  we  stood  awhile,  staring  past  each  other  into 
the  deepening  shadows. 

"  Peter,"  said  he  at  last,  "  it 's  no  a  vera  genteel  pres- 
ent tae  be  makin'  ye,  I  doot,"  and  he  held  up  the  battered 
shoes.  "  They  're  unco  worn,  an'  wi'  a  clout  here  an' 
there,  ye  '11  notice,  but  the  buckles  are  guid  siller,  an'  I 
hae  naething  else  to  gi'e  ye.  Ay,  man !  but  it 's  many  a 
weary  mile  I  've  marched  in  these  at  the  head  o'  the  Ninety- 
Second,  an'  it 's  mony  a  stark  fecht  they  've  been  through 
—  Vittoria,  Salamanca,  Talavera,  tae  Quatre  Bras  an' 
Waterloo ;    tak'  'em,  Peter,  tak'  'em  —  tae  mind  ye  some- 


Donald  Bids  me  Farewell       193 

times  o'  DonaP  Stuart.  An'  now  —  gi'e  us  a  grup  o'  ye 
hand.     Gude  keep  ye,  Peter,  man !  " 

So  saying,  he  thrust  the  brogues  upon  me,  caught  and 
squeezed  my  hand,  and  turning  sharp  about,  strode  away 
through  the  shadows,  his  kilt  swaying,  and  tartans  stream- 
ing gallantly. 

And,  presently,  I  went  and  sat  me  down  upon  the  bench 
beside  the  door,  with  the  war-worn  shoes  upon  my  knee. 
Suddenly,  as  I  sat  there,  faint  and  fainter  with  distance, 
and  unutterably  sad,  came  the  slow,  sweet  music  of  Don- 
ald's pipes  playing  the  "  Wallace  Lament."  Softly  the 
melody  rose  and  fell,  until  it  died  away  in  one  long-drawn, 
wailing  note. 

Now,  as  it  ended,  I  rose,  and  uncovered  my  head,  for  I 
knew  this  was  Donald's  last  farewell. 

Much  more  I  might  have  told  of  this  strange  yet  lov- 
able man  who  was  by  turns  the  scarred  soldier,  full  of 
stirring  tales  of  camp  and  battlefield;  the  mischievous 
child  delighting  in  tricks  and  rogueries  of  all  sorts ;  and 
the  stately  Hieland  gentleman.  Many  wild  legends  he  told 
me  of  his  native  glens,  with  strange  tales  of  the  "  second 
sight  "  —  but  here,  perforce,  must  be  no  place  for  such. 
So  here  then  I  leave  Donald  and  hurry  on  with  my 
narrative. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

Uf    WHICH    THIS    FLEST    BOOK    BEGINS    TO    DRAW    TO    A 
CLOSE 

"Strike!  ding!  ding! 
Strike!  ding!  ding! 
The  iron  glows. 
And  loveth  good  blows 
As  fire  doth  bellows. 
Strike!  ding!  ding!" 

Out  beyond  the  smithy  door  a  solitary  star  twinkles  low 
down  in  the  night  sky,  like  some  great  jewel;  but  we  have 
no  time  for  star-gazing,  Black  George  and  I,  for  to-night 
we  are  at  work  on  the  old  church  screen,  which  must  be 
finished  to-morrow. 

And  so  the  bellows  roar  hoarsely,  the  hammers  clang, 
and  the  sparks  fly,  while  the  sooty  face  of  Black  George, 
now  in  shadow,  now  illumed  by  the  fire,  seems  like  the  face 
of  some  Fire-god  or  Salamander.  In  the  corner,  perched 
securely  out  of  reach  of  stray  sparks,  sits  the  Ancient, 
snuff-box  in  hand  as  usual. 

To  my  mind,  a  forge  is  at  its  best  by  night,  for,  in  the 
red,  fiery  glow,  the  blackened  walls,  the  shining  anvil,  and 
the  smith  himself,  bare-armed  and  bare  of  chest,  are  all 
magically  transfigured,  while,  in  the  hush  of  night,  the 
drone  of  the  bellows  sounds  more  impressive,  the  stroke  of 
the  hammers  more  sonorous  and  musical,  and  the  flying 
sparks  mark  plainly  their  individual  courses,  ere  they 
vanish. 

I  stand,  feet  well  apart,  and  swing  the  great  "  sledge  " 
to  whose  diapason  George's  hand-hammer  beats  a  tinkling 
melody,  coming  in  after  each  stroke  with  a  ring  and  clash 


First  Book  Draws  to  a  Close      195 

exact  and  true,  as  is,  and  has  been,  the  way  of  masters  of 
the  smithing  craft  all  the  world  over  from  time  immemorial. 

"  George,"  said  I,  during  a  momentary  lull,  leaning  my 
hands  upon  the  long  hammer-shaft,  "  you  don't  sing." 

"  No,  Peter." 

"And  why  not.?" 

"  I  think,  Peter." 

"  But  surely  you  can  both  think  and  sing,  George?  " 

"  Not  always,  Peter." 

"  What 's  your  trouble,  George  ?  " 

"  No  trouble,  Peter,"  said  he,  above  the  roar  of  the 
bellows. 

"  Then  sing,  George." 

"  Ay,  Jarge,  sing,"  nodded  the  Ancient ;  "  't  is  a  poor 
'eart  as  never  rejices,  an'  that's  in  the  Scripters  —  so 
sing,  Jarge." 

George  did  not  answer,  but,  with  a  turn  of  his  mighty 
wrist,  drew  the  glowing  iron  from  the  fire.  And  once  more 
the  sparks  fly,  the  air  is  full  of  the  clink  of  hammers,  and 
the  deep-throated  Song  of  the  Anvil,  in  which  even  the 
Ancient  joins,  in  a  voice  somewhat  quavery,  and  generally 
a  note  or  two  behind,  but  with  great  gusto  and  goodwill 
notwithstanding :  ^ 

"Strike!  ding!  ding! 
Strike!  ding!  ding! " 

in  the  middle  of  which  I  was  aware  of  one  entering  to  us, 
and  presently,  turning  round,  espied  Prudence  with  a 
great  basket  on  her  arm.  Hereupon  hammers  were  thrown 
aside,  and  we  straightened  our  backs,  for  in  that  basket 
was  our  supper. 

Very  fair  and  sweet  Prudence  looked,  lithe  and  vigorous, 
and  straight  as  a  young  poplar,  with  her  shining  black 
hair  curling  into  little  tight  rings  about  her  ears,  and  with 
great,  shy  eyes,  and  red,  red  mouth.  Surely  a  man  might 
seek  very  far  ere  he  found  such  another  maid  as  this 
brown-cheeked,  black-eyed  village  beauty. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Peter !  "  said  she,  dropping  me  a 


196  The  Broad  Highway 

curtesy  with  a  grace  that  could  not  have  been  surpassed  by 
any  duchess  in  the  land ;  but,  as  for  poor  George,  she  did 
not  even  notice  him,  neither  did  he  raise  his  curly  head  nor 
glance  toward  her. 

"  You  come  just  when  you  are  most  needed,  Prudence," 
said  I,  relieving  her  of  the  heavy  basket,  "  for  here  be  two 
hungry  men." 

"  Three !  "  broke  in  the  Ancient ;  "  so  'ungry  as  a  lion, 
/  be !  " 

"  Three  hungry  men.  Prudence,  who  have  been  hearken- 
ing for  your  step  this  half-hour  and  more." 

Quoth  Prudence  shyly:    "  For  the  sake  of  my  basket.?  " 

"  Ay,  for  sure !  "  croaked  the  Ancient ;  "  so  ravenous 
as  a  tiger  I  be !  "  ■ 

"  No,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  basket  or  no  basket, 
you  are  equally  welcome,  Prudence  —  how  say  you, 
George.''  "  But  George  only  mumbled  in  his  beard.  The 
Ancient  and  I  now  set  to  work  putting  up  an  extemporized 
table,  but  as  for  George,  he  stood  staring  down  moodily 
into  the  yet  glowing  embers  of  the  forge. 

Having  put  up  the  table,  I  crossed  to  where  Prudence 
was  busy  unpacking  her  basket. 

"  Prudence,"  said  I,  "  are  you  still  at  odds  with 
George.'*  "     Prudence  nodded. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  he  is  such  a  splendid  fellow !  His  out- 
burst the  other  day  was  quite  natural,  under  the  circum- 
stances ;    surely  you  can  forgive  him.  Prudence." 

"  There  be  more  nor  that  betwixt  us,  Mr.  Peter,"  sighed 
Prue.  "  'T  is  his  drinkin' ;  six  months  ago  he  promised 
me  never  to  touch  another  drop  —  an'  he  broke  his  word 
wi*  me." 

"  But  surely  good  ale,  in  moderation,  will  harm  no  man 
—  nay,  on  the  contrary  —  " 

"  But  Jarge  bean't  like  other  men,  Mr.  Peter !  " 

"  No ;  he  is  much  bigger,  and  stronger !  "  said  I,  "  and 
I  never  saw  a  handsomer  fellow." 

"  Yes,"  nodded  the  girl,  "  so  strong  as  a  giant,  an'  so 
weak  as  a  little  child !  " 


First  Book  Draws  to  a  Close      197 

"  Indeed,  Prudence,"  said  I,  leaning  nearer  to  her  in 
my  earnestness,  "  I  think  you  are  a  little  unjust  to  him. 
So  far  as  I  know  him,  George  is  anything  but  weak-minded, 
or  liable  to  be  led  into  anything  —  " 

Hearing  the  Ancient  chuckle  gleefully,  I  glanced  up 
to  find  him  nodding  and  winking  to  Black  George,  who 
stood  with  folded  arms  and  bent  head,  watching  us  from 
beneath  his  brows,  and,  as  his  eyes  met  mine,  I  thought 
they  gleamed  strangely  in  the  firelight. 

"  Come,  Prue,"  said  the  Ancient,  bustling  forward, 
"  table  's  ready  —  let 's  sit  down  an'  eat  —  f  aintin'  an' 
f araishin'  away,  I  be !  " 

So  we  presently  sat  down,  all  three  of  us,  while  Prudence 
carved  and  supplied  our  wants,  as  only  Prudence  could. 

And  after  a  while,  our  hunger  being  appeased,  I  took 
out  my  pipe,  as  did  the  Ancient  and  George  theirs  like- 
wise, and  together  we  filled  them,  slowly  and  carefully,  as 
pipes  should  be  filled,  while  Prudence  folded  a  long,  paper 
spill  wherewith  to  light  them,  the  which  she  proceeded  to 
do,  beginning  at  her  grandfather's  churchwarden.  Now, 
while  she  was  lighting  mine.  Black  George  suddenly  rose, 
and,  crossing  to  the  forge,  took  thence  a  glowing  coal  with 
the  tongs,  thus  doing  the  office  for  himself.  All  at  once 
I  saw  Prue's  hand  was  trembling,  and  the  spill  was 
dropped  or  ever  my  tobacco  was  well  alight;  then  she 
turned  swiftly  away,  and  began  replacing  the  plates  and 
knives  and  forks  in  her  basket. 

"  Be  you  'm  a-goin',  Prue.'' "  inquired  the  Ancient 
mumblingly,  for  his  pipe  was  in  full  blast. 

"  Yes,  gran'fer." 

"  Then  tell  Simon  as  I  '11  be  along  in  'arf  an  hour  or  so, 
will  'ee,  lass-f*  " 

"  Yes,  gran'fer !  "     Always  with  her  back  to  us. 

"  Then  kiss  ye  old  grandfeyther  as  loves  'ee,  an'  means 
for  to  see  'ee  well  bestowed,  an'  wed,  one  o'  these  fine 
days ! "  Prudence  stooped  and  pressed  her  fresh,  red 
lips  to  his  wrinkled  old  cheek  and,  catching  up  her  basket, 
turned  to  the  door,  yet  not  so  quickly  but  that  I  had 


198  The  Broad  Highway 

caught  the  gleam  of  tears  beneath  her  lashes.  Black 
George  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and  stretched  out  his  hand 
towards  her  burden,  then  sat  down  again  as,  with  a  hasty 
"  Good  night,"  she  vanished  through  the  yawning  door- 
way. And,  sitting  there,  we  listened  to  her  quick,  light 
footstep  cross  the  road  to  "  The  Bull." 

"  She  '11  make  some  man  a  fine  wife,  some  day !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Ancient,  blowing  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  "  ay, 
she  '11  mak'  some  man  as  fine  a  wife  as  ever  was,  some 
day." 

"  You  speak  my  very  thought.  Ancient,"  said  I,  "  she 
will  indeed;  what  do  you  think,  George?"  But  George's 
answer  was  to  choke  suddenly,  and,  thereafter,  to  fall 
a-coughing. 

"  Smoke  go  t'  wrong  way,  Jarge.'*  "  inquired  the  An- 
cient, fixing  him  with  his  bright  eye. 

"  Ay,"  nodded  George. 

"  Ha !  "  said  the  old  man,  and  we  smoked  for  a  time  in 
silence. 

"  So  'andsome  as  a  picter  she  be !  "  said  the  Ancient 
suddenly. 

"  She  is  fairer  than  any  picture,"  said  I  impulsively, 
"  and  what  is  better  still,  her  nature  is  as  sweet  and 
beautiful  as  her  face !  " 

"  'Ow  do  'ee  know  that.''  "  said  George,  turning  sharply 
upon  me. 

"  My  eyes  and  ears  tell  me  so,  as  yours  surely  must 
have  done  long  ago,"  I  answered. 

"  Ye  do  think  as  she  be  a  purty  lass,  then,  Peter.''  "  in- 
quired the  Ancient. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  she  is  the  prettiest  lass  I  ever 
saw;  don't  you  think  so,  George?"  But  again  George's 
only  answer  was  to  choke. 

"  Smoke  again,  Jarge?  "  inquired  the  Ancient. 

"  Ay,"  said  George,  as  before. 

"  'T  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  young,"  said  the  Ancient,  after 
a  somewhat  lengthy  pause,  and  with  a  wave  of  his  long 
pipe-stem,  "  a  very  fine  thing !  " 


First  Book  Draws  to  a  Close      199 

"  It  is,"  said  I,  "  though  we  generally  realize  it  all  too 
late." 

As  for  George,  he  went  on  smoking. 

"  When  you  are  young,"  pursued  the  Ancient,  "  you 
eats  well,  an'  enjys  it,  you  sleeps  well  an'  enjys  it;  your 
legs  is  strong,  your  arms  is  strong,  an'  you  bean't  afeard 
o'  nothin'  nor  nobody.  Oh !  life  's  a  very  fine  thing  when 
you  're  young ;  but  youth  's  tur'ble  quick  a-goin'  —  the 
years  roll  slow  at  first,  but  gets  quicker  'n  quicker,  till, 
one  day,  you  wakes  to  find  you  'm  an  old  man ;  an'  when 
you  'm  old,  the  way  gets  very  'ard,  an'  toilsome,  an' 
lonely." 

"  But  there  is  always  memory,"  said  I. 

"  You  'm  right  theer,  Peter,  so  theer  be  —  so  theer  be  — 
why,  I  be  a  old,  old  man,  wi'  more  years  than  'airs  on  my 
'ead,  an'  yet  it  seems  but  yesterday  as  I  were  a-holdin'  on 
tu  my  mother's  skirt,  an'  wonderin'  'ow  the  moon  got 
lighted.  Life  be  very  short,  Peter,  an'  while  we  'ave  it 
't  is  well  to  get  all  the  'appiness  out  of  it  we  can." 

"  The  wisest  men  of  all  ages  preached  the  same,"  said 
I,  "only  they  all  disagreed  as  to  how  happiness  was  to 
be  gained." 

"  More  fules  they !  "  said  the  Ancient. 

"  Eh.''  "  I  exclaimed,  sitting  up. 

"  More  fules  they !  "  repeated  the  old  man  with  a  solemn 
nod. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  now  how  true  happiness  may  be 
found?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  du,  Pe  er." 

"How.?" 

"  By  marriage,  Peter,  an'  'ard  work !  —  an*  they  alius 
goes  together." 

"  Marriage !  "  said  I. 

"  Marriage  as  ever  was,  Peter." 

"  There  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  I. 

"  That,"  retorted  the  Ancient,  stabbing  at  me  with  his 
pipe-stem,  "  that 's  because  you  never  was  married,  Peter." 

"  Marriage !  "  said  I ;  "  marriage  brings  care,  and  great 


200  The  Broad  Highway 

responsibility,  and  trouble  for  one's  self  means  trouble  for 
others." 

"What  o'  that?"  exclaimed  the  Ancient.  " 'T  is  care 
and  'sponsibility  as  mak'  the  man,  an'  if  you  marry  a  good 
wife  she  '11  share  the  burden  wi'  ye,  an'  ye  '11  find  what 
seemed  your  troubles  is  a  blessin'  arter  all.  When  sorrer 
comes,  't  is  a  sweet  thing  —  oh !  a  very  sweet  thing  —  to 
'ave  a  woman  to  comfort  ye  an'  'old  your  'and  in  the  dark 
hour  —  an'  theer  's  no  sympathy  so  tender  as  a  woman's, 
Peter.  Then,  when  ye  be  old,  like  me,  an'  full  o'  years  — 
't  is  a  fine  thing  to  'ave  a  son  o'  your  own  —  like  Simon  — 
an'  a  granddarter  —  like  my  Prue  —  't  is  worth  'aving 
lived  for,  Peter,  ay,  well  worth  it.  It 's  a  man's  dooty 
to  marry,  Peter,  'is  doot}'  to  'isself  an'  the  world.  Don't 
the  Bible  say  summat  about  it  not  bein'  good  for  a  man 
to  live  alone  .'*  Every  man  as  is  a  man  should  marry  — 
the  sooner  the  better." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  to  every  happy  marriage  there  are 
scores  of  miserable  ones." 

"  'Cause  why,  Peter.?  'Cause  people  is  in  too  much  o' 
a  hurry  to  marry,  as  a  rule.  If  a  man  marries  a  lass  arter 
knowin'  'er  a  week  —  'ow  is  'e  goin'  to  know  if  she  '11  suit 
'im  all  'is  days.''  Nohow,  Peter,  it  are  n't  nat'ral  —  woman 
tak's  a  lot  o'  knowin'.  '  Marry  in  'aste,  an'  repent  in 
leisure ! '    That  are  n't  in  the  Bible,  but  it  ought  to  be." 

"  And  your  own  marriage  was  a  truly  happy  one, 
Ancient  ?  " 

"  Ah !  that  it  were,  Peter,  'appj  as  ever  was  —  but  then, 
ye  see,  there  was  a  Providence  in  it.  I  were  a  fine  young 
chap  in  them  days,  summat  o'  yo\ir  figure  only  bigger  — 
ah !  a  sight  bigger  —  an'  I  were  sweet  on  several  lassies, 
an'  won't  say  as  they  wer'  n't  sweet  on  me  —  three  on  'em 
most  especially  so.  One  was  a  tall,  bouncin'  wench  wi'  blue 
eyes,  an'  golden  'air  —  like  sunshine  it  were,  but  it  wer'  n't 
meant  as  I  should  buckle  up  wi'  'er." 

"  Why  not.?  " 

"  'Cause,  it  so  'appened  as  she  married  summun  else." 

"  And  the  second  ?  " 


First  Book  Draws  to  a  Close      201 

"  The  second  were  a  fine,  pretty  maid  tu,  but  I  could  n't 
marry  she." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause,  Peter,  she  went  an'  took  an'  died  afore  I  could 
ax  'er." 

"  And  the  third,  you  married." 

''  No,  Peter,  though  it  come  to  the  same  thing  in  the 
end  —  she  married  I.  Ye  see,  though  I  were  alius  at  'er 
beck  an'  call,  I  could  never  pluck  the  courage  to  up  an' 
ax  'er  right  out.  So  things  went  on  for  a  year  or  so, 
maybe,  till  one  day  —  she  were  makin'  apple  dumplings, 
Peter  — '  Martin,'  says  she,  lookin'  at  me  sideways  out  of 
'er  black  eyes  —  just  like  Prue's  they  were  —  'Martin,' 
says  she,  *  you  'm  uncommon  fond  o'  apple-dumplings  .'* ' 
*  For  sure,'  says  I,  which  I  were,  Peter.  '  Martin,'  says 
she,  '  should  n't  'ee  like  to  eat  of  'em  whenever  you  wanted 
to,  at  your  very  own  table,  in  a  cottage  o'  your  own.'' ' 
'  Ah !  if  you  'd  mak'  'em ! '  says  I,  sharp  like.  *  I  would 
if  you  'd  ax  me,  Martin,'  says  she.  An'  so  we  was  mar- 
ried, Peter,  an'  as  you  see,  theer  was  a  Providence  in  it, 
for,  if  the  first  one  'ad  n't  married  some  'un  else,  an'  the 
second  'ad  n't  died,  I  might  ha'  married  one  o'  they,  an' 
repented  it  all  my  days,  for  I  were  young  then,  an'  fulish, 
Peter,  fulish."  So  saying,  the  Ancient  rose,  sighing,  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"  Talkin'  'bout  Prue,"  said  he,  taking  up  his  hat  and 
removing  his  snuff-box  therefrom  ere  he  set  it  upon  his 
head,  "  talkin'  'bo\]Lt  Prue,"  he  repeated,  with  a  pinch  of 
snuff  at  his  nostrils. 

"Well.''"  The  word  seemed  shot  out  of  Greorge  in- 
voluntarily, 

"  Talkin'  'bout  Prue,"  said  the  Ancient  again,  glancing 
at  each  of  us  in  turn,  "  theer  was  some  folks  as  used  to 
think  she  were  sweet  on  Jarge  theer,  but  I,  bein'  'er  lawful 
gran'feyther  knowed  different  —  didn't  I,  Jarge.''" 

"  Ay,"  nodded  the  smith. 

"  Many  's  the  time  I  've  said  to  you  a-sittin'  in  this 
very  corner,  '  Jarge,'  I  *ve  said,  '  mark  my  words,  Jarge 


2  02  The  Broad  Highway 

—  if  ever  my  Prue  does  marry  some  'un  —  which  she  will 

—  that  there  some  'un  won't  be  you.'     Them  be  my  very 
words,  bean't  they,  Jarge?  " 

"  Your  very  words.  Gaffer,"  nodded  George. 

"  Well  then,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  'ere  's  what  I 
was  a-comin'  to  —  Prue  's  been  an'  fell  in  love  wi'  some  'un 
at  last." 

Black  George's  pipe  shivered  to  fragments  on  the  floor, 
and  as  he  leaned  forward  I  saw  that  his  great  hands  were 
tightly  clenched. 

"  Gaffer,"  said  he,  in  a  strangled  voice,  *■'  what  do  'ee 
mean.P  " 

"  I  means  what  I  says,  Jarge." 

"  How  do  'ee  know.''  " 

"  Bean't  I  the  lass's  gran'f eyther .?  " 

"  Be  ye  sure.  Gaffer  —  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Ay  —  sartin  sure  —  twice  this  week,  an'  once  the  week 
afore  she  forgot  to  put  any  salt  in  the  soup  —  an'  that 
speaks  wollums,  Jarge,  wollums !  "  Here,  having  replaced 
his  snuff-box,  the  Ancient  put  on  his  hat,  nodded,  and 
hobbled  away.  As  for  Black  George,  he  sat  there,  staring 
blindly  before  him  long  after  the  tapping  of  the  Ancient's 
stick  had  died  away,  nor  did  he  heed  me  when  I  spoke, 
wherefore  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Come,  George,"  said  I,  "  another  hour,  and  the  screen 
will  be  finished."  He  started,  and,  drawing  from  my  hand, 
looked  up  at  me  very  strangely. 

"  No,  Peter,"  he  mumbled,  "  I  are  n't  a-goin'  to  work 
no  more  to-night,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  —  are  you  going?  "  said  I,  as  he  crossed  to  the 
door. 

"  Ay,  I  'm  a-goin'."  Now,  as  he  went  towards  his  cot- 
tage, I  saw  him  reel,  and  stagger,  like  a  drunken  man. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

IN  WHICH  WE   DRAW   YET   NEARER   TO   THE   END  OF   THIS 
FIRST    BOOK 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  chronicle  all  those  minor  hap- 
penings that  befell  me,  now  or  afterward,  lest  this  history 
prove  wearisome  to  the  reader  (on  the  which  head  I  begin 
to  entertain  grave  doubts  already).  Suffice  it  then  that 
as  the  days  grew  into  weeks,  and  the  weeks  into  months, 
by  perseverance  I  became  reasonably  expert  at  my  trade, 
so  that,  some  two  months  after  my  meeting  with  Black 
George,  I  could  shoe  a  horse  with  any  smith  in  the  country. 

But,  more  than  this,  the  people  with  whom  I  associated 
day  by  day  —  honest,  loyal,  and  simple-hearted  as  they 
were,  contented  with  their  lot,  and  receiving  all  things  so 
unquestioningly  and  thankfully,  filled  my  life,  and  brought 
a  great  calm  to  a  mind  that,  had,  hitherto,  been  somewhat 
self-centred  and  troubled  by  pessimistic  doubts  and  fan- 
tastic dreams  culled  from  musty  pages. 

What  book  is  there  to  compare  with  the  great  Book 
of  Life  —  whose  pages  are  forever  a-tuming,  wherein  are 
marvels  and  wonders  undreamed;  things  to  weep  over, 
and  some  few  to  laugh  at,  if  one  but  has  eyes  in  one's  head 
to  see  withal? 

To  walk  through  the  whispering  cornfields,  or  the  long, 
green  alleys  of  the  hop-gardens  with  Simon,  who  combines 
innkeeping  with  farming,  to  hear  him  tell  of  fruit  and 
flower,  of  bird  and  beast,  is  better  than  to  read  the  Georgics 
of  Virgil. 

To  sit  in  the  sunshine  and  watch  the  Ancient,  pipe  in 


2  04  The  Broad  Highway 

mouth,  to  hearken  to  his  animadversions  upon  Life,  and 
Death,  and  Humanity,  is  better  than  the  cynical  wit  of 
Rochefoucauld,  or  a  page  out  of  honest  old  Montaigne. 

To  see  the  proud  poise  of  sweet  Prue's  averted  head, 
and  the  tender  look  in  her  eyes  when  George  is  near,  and 
the  surge  of  the  mighty  chest  and  the  tremble  of  the  strong 
man's  hand  at  the  sound  of  her  light  footfall,  is  more 
enthralling  than  any  written  romance,  old  or  new. 

In  regard  to  these  latter,  I  began,  at  this  time,  to  con- 
trive schemes  and  to  plot  plots  for  bringing  them  together 
—  to  bridge  over  the  difficulty  which  separated  them,  for, 
being  happy,  I  would  fain  see  them  happy  also.  Now,  how 
I  succeeded  in  this  self-imposed  task,  the  reader  (if  he 
trouble  to  read  far  enough)  shall  see  for  himself. 

"  George,"  said  I,  on  a  certain  Saturday  morning,  as 
I  washed  the  grime  from  my  face  and  hands,  "  are  you 
going  to  the  Fair  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  No,  Peter,  I  are  n't." 

"  But  Prudence  is  going,"  said  I,  drying  myself  vigor- 
ously upon  the  towel. 

"  And  how,"  inquired  the  smith,  bending  in  turn  above 
the  bucket  in  which  we  performed  our  ablutions,  "  and  how 
might  you  know  that,  Peter.'*  " 

"  Because  she  told  me  so." 

"  Told  you  so,  did  she  .'*  "  said  George,  and  immediately 
plunged  his  head  into  the  bucket. 

"  She  did,"  I  answered. 

"  And  supposin',"  said  George,  coming  up  very  red  in 
the  face,  and  with  the  water  streaming  from  his  sodden 
curls,  "  supposin'  she  is  goin'  to  the  Fair,  what 's  that  to 
me?  I  don't  care  wheer  she  comes,  no,  nor  wheer  she  goes, 
neither !  "  and  he  shook  the  water  from  him  as  a  dog  might. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  George  .'*  " 

"  Ah !  sartin  sure.  I  've  been  sure  of  it  now  ever  since 
she  called  me  —  " 

"  Pooh,  nonsense,  man !  she  did  n't  mean  it  —  women  — 
especially  young  ones  —  often  say  things  they  do  not 
mean  —  at  least,  so  I  am  given  to  understand." 


Nearer  to  End  of  First  Book      205 

"  Ay,  but  she  did  mean  it,"  said  George,  frowning  and 
nodding  his  head ;  "  but  it  ain't  that,  Peter,  no,  it  are  n't 
that,  it 's  the  knowin'  as  she  spoke  truth  when  she  called 
me  '  coward,'  and  despisin'  me  for  it  in  'er  heart,  that 's 
wheer  it  is,  Peter." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  'm  sure  she  never  meant  it,  George." 

*'  Then  let  'er  come  and  tell  me  so." 

"  I  don't  think  she  '11  do  that,"  said  I. 

"  No  more  do  I,  Peter."  Saying  which,  he  fell  to  work 
with  the  towel  even  as  I  had  done. 

"  George,"  said  I  after  a  silence. 

"Well,  Peter?" 

"  Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  Prudence  is  an  uncom- 
monly handsome  girl.''  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  'as,  Peter  —  I  were  blind  else." 

"  And  that  other  men  may  see  this  too?  " 

"Well,  Peter?" 

"  And  some  one  —  even  tell  her  so  ?  "  His  answer  was 
a  long  time  coming,  but  come  it  did  at  last : 

"  Well,  Peter?  " 

"And  —  ask  her  to  marry  him,  George?"  This  time 
he  was  silent  so  long  that  I  had  tied  my  neckerchief  and 
drawn  on  my  coat  ere  he  spoke,  very  heavily  and  slowly, 
and  without  looking  at  me. 

"  Why,  then,  Peter,  let  'im.  I  've  told  'ee  afore,  I  don't 
care  wheer  she  comes  nor  wheer  she  goes,  she  bean't  nothin' 
to  me  no  more,  nor  I  to  she.  If  so  be  some  man  'as  a 
mind  to  ax  'er  for  'isself,  all  open  an'  aboveboard,  I  say 
again  —  let  'im.     And  now,  let 's  talk  o'  summat  else." 

"  Willingly.  There  's  to  be  boxing,  and  single-stick, 
and  wrestling  at  the  Fair,  I  understand." 

"  Ay." 

"  And,  they  tell  me,  there  is  a  famous  wrestler  coming 
all  the  way  from  Cornwall  to  wrestle  the  best  man  for  ten 
guineas." 

"  Ay,  so  there  be." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  Peter?  " 


2o6  The  Broad  Highway 

"They  were  talking  about  it  at  'The  Bull'  last 
night  —  " 

"'The  Bull'  — to  be  sure  — you  was  at  'The  Bull' 
last  night  —  well?  " 

"  They  were  saying  that  you  were  a  mighty  wrestler, 
George,  that  you  were  the  only  man  in  these  parts  who 
could  stand  up  to  this  Cornishman." 

"  Ay,  I  can  wrastle  a  bit,  Peter,"  he  replied,  speaking 
in  the  same  heavy,  listless  manner;  "what  then?  " 

"  Why  then,  George,  get  into  your  coat,  and  let 's  be 
off." 

"Wheer  to?" 

"  The  Fair."     Black  George  shook  his  head. 

"  What,  you  won't?  " 

"  No,  Peter." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because  I  are  n't  got  the  mind  to  —  because  I  are  n't 
never  goin'  to  wrastle  no  more,  Peter  —  so  theer  's  an  end 
on  't."     Yet,  in  the  doorway  I  paused  and  looked  back. 

"  George." 

"Peter?" 

"  Won't  you  come  —  for  friendship's  sake?  " 

Black  George  picked  up  his  coat,  looked  at  it,  and  put 
it  down  again. 

"No,  Peter!" 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

WHICH    DESCRIBES    SUNDRY    HAPPENINGS    AT    THE    FAIB, 
AND    ENDS    THIS    FIRST    BOOK 

"  I  SAY,  young  cove,  where  are  you  a-pushing  of?  '* 

The  speaker  was  a  very  tall  individual  whose  sharp- 
pointed  elbow  had,  more  than  once,  obtruded  itself  into 
my  ribs.  He  was  extremely  thin  and  bony,  with  a  long, 
drooping  nose  set  very  much  to  one  side,  and  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  remarkable  pair  of  eyes  —  that  is  to  say,  one 
eyehd  hung  continually  lower  than  the  other,  thus  lending 
to  his  otherwise  sinister  face  an  air  of  droll  and  unexpected 
waggery  that  was  quite  startling  to  behold. 

All  about  us  were  jostling  throngs  of  men  and  women 
in  snowy  smock  frocks,  and  holiday  gowns,  who  pushed,  or 
were  pushed,  laughed,  or  frowned,  according  to  their  sev- 
eral natures ;  while  above  the  merry  hubbub  rose  the  blare 
of  trumpets,  the  braying  of  horns,  and  the  crash,  and 
rattle  of  drums  —  in  a  word,  I  was  in  the  middle  of  an 
English  Country  Fair. 

"  Now  then,  young  cove,"  repeated  the  man  I  have 
alluded  to,  "  where  are  you  a-pushing  of?  Don't  do  it 
again,  or  mind  your  eye !  "  And,  saying  this,  he  glared 
balefully  at  me  with  one  eye  and  leered  jocosely  with  the 
other,  and  into  my  ribs  came  his  elbow  again. 

"  You  seem  to  be  able  to  do  something  in  that  way  your- 
self," I  retorted. 

"Oh  — do  I?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  suppose  you  take  your  elbow  out  of 
my  waistcoat." 


2o8  The  Broad  Highway 

"  *  Elber,'  "  repeated  the  man,  "  what  d'  ye  mean  by 
'elber'?" 

"  This,"  said  I,  catching  his  arm  in  no  very  gentle  grip. 

"  If  it 's  a  fight  you  're  wantin'  —  "  began  the  man. 

"  It  is  n't !  "  said  I. 

"  Then  leggo  my  arm !  " 

"  Then  keep  your  elbow  to  yourself." 

"  'Cod !     I  never  see  such  a  hot-headed  cove !  " 

"  Nor  I  a  more  bad-tempered  one," 

This  altercation  had  taken  place  as  we  swayed  to  and 
fro  in  the  crowd,  from  which  we  now  slowly  won  free,  owing 
chiefly  to  the  dexterous  use  of  the  man's  bony  elbows,  until 
we  presently  found  ourselves  in  a  veritable  jungle  of  carts 
and  wagons  of  all  kinds  and  sorts,  where  we  stopped,  fac- 
ing each  other. 

"  I  'm  inclined  to  think,  young  cove,  as  you  'd  be  short- 
tempered  if  you  been  shied  at  by  your  feller-man  from  your 
youth  up,"  said  the  man. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  *  shied  at '  ?  " 

"  What  I  sez !  —  some  perfessions  is  easy,  and  some  is 
'ard  —  like  mine." 

"  And  what  is  yours  ?  " 

"  I  'm  a  perfessional  Sambo." 

"A  what?" 

"  Well  —  a  '  Nigger-head  '  then,  —  blacks  my  face  — 
sticks  my  'ead  through  a  'ole,  and  lets  'em  shy  at  me  — 
three  shies  a  penny  —  them  as  'its  me  gets  a  cigar  —  a 
big  'un  —  them  as  don't  —  don't !  " 

"  Yours  is  a  very  unpleasant  profession,"  said  I. 

"  A  man  must  live !  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  supposing  you  get  hit.?  " 

"  Them  as  'its  me  gets  a  cigar !  " 

"Doesn't  it  hurt  you?" 

"  Oh !  you  gets  used  to  it  —  though,  to  be  sure,  they 
don't  'it  me  very  often,  or  it  would  be  a  loss ;  cigars  is 
expensive  —  leastways,  they  costs  money." 

"  But  surely  a  wooden  image  would  serve  your  turn  just 
as  well." 


Happenings  at  the  Fair        209 

"  A  wooden  image !  "  exclaimed  the  man  disgustedly. 
"  James  !  —  you  must  be  a  fool,  you  must !  Who  wants 
to  throw  at  a  wooden  image  —  you  can't  'urt  a  wooden 
image,  can  you  —  if  you  throwed  'eavens  'ard  at  a  wooden 
image  that  there  wooden  image  would  n't  flinch,  would  it  ? 
When  a  man  throws  at  anything  'e  likes  to  'it  it  —  that 's 
'uman  —  and  when  'e  'its  it  'e  likes  to  see  it  flinch  —  that 's 
'uman  too,  and  when  it  flinches,  why  —  'e  rubs  'is  'ands, 
and  takes  another  shot  —  and  tliat  's  the  'umanest  of  all. 
So  you  see,  young  cove,  you  're  a  fool  with  your  wooden 
image." 

Now,  as  he  ended,  I  stooped,  very  suddenly,  and  caught 
hold  of  his  wrist  —  and  then  I  saw  that  he  held  my  purse 
in  his  hand.  It  was  a  large  hand  with  bony  knuckles,  and 
very  long  fingers,  upon  one  of  which  was  a  battered  ring." 
He  attempted,  at  first,  to  free  himself  of  my  grip,  but, 
finding  this  useless,  stood  glowering  at  me  with  one  eye 
and  leering  with  the  other. 

"Ha!  "said  I. 

"  Hallo !  "  said  he. 

"  A  purse !  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  so  it  is,"  he  nodded ;  "  leastways,  it  looks  un- 
commonly like  one,  don't  it.?  " 

"  What 's  more,  it  looks  like  mine !  " 

"  Does  it.?  " 

"  I  could  swear  to  it  anywhere." 

"  Could  you.?  " 

"  I  could." 

"  Then  p'r'aps  you  'd  better  take  it,  young  cove,  and 
very  welcome,  I  'm  sure." 

"  So  you  've  been  picking  my  pocket !  "  said  I. 

"  Never  picked  a  pocket  in  my  life  —  should  scorn  to." 

I  put  away  my  recovered  property,  and  straightway 
shifted  my  grip  to  the  fellow's  collar. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  come  on." 

"  Why,  what  are  you  a-doing  of?  " 

"  What  does  one  generally  do  with  a  pickpocket  ?  " 

But  I  had  hardly  uttered  the  words  when,  with  a  sudden 


2IO  The  Broad  Highway 

cunning  twist,  he  broke  my  hold,  and,  my  foot  catching 
in  a  guy-rope,  I  tripped,  and  fell  heavily,  and  ere  I  could 
rise  he  had  made  good  his  escape.  I  got  to  my  feet,  some- 
what shaken  by  the  fall,  yet  congratulating  myself  on  the 
recovery  of  my  purse,  and,  threading  my  way  among  the 
tents,  was  soon  back  among  the  crowd.  Here  were  circuses 
and  shows  of  all  kinds,  where  one  might  behold  divers 
strange  beasts,  the  usual  Fat  Women  and  Skeleton  Men 
(who  ever  heard  of  the  order  being  reversed?)  ;  and  be- 
fore the  shows  were  fellows  variously  attired,  but  each 
being  purplish  of  visage,  and  each  possessing  the  lungs 
of  a  Stentor  —  more  especially  one,  a  round-bellied,  bottle- 
nosed  fellow  in  a  white  hat,  who  alternately  roared  and 
beat  upon  a  drum  —  a  red-haired  man  he  was,  with  a  fiery 
eye,  which  eye,  chancing  to  single  me  out  in  the  crowd, 
fixed  itself  pertinaciously  upon  me,  thenceforth,  so  that  he 
seemed  to  address  himself  exclusively  to  me,  thus: 

"  O  my  stars!  [young  man]."  (Bang  goes  the  drum.) 
"  The  wonderful  wild,  'airy,  and  savage  man  from  Bon- 
hoola,  as  eats  snakes  alive,  and  dresses  hisself  in  sheeny 
serpents!  O  my  eye!  step  up!  [young  man]."  (Bang!) 
"  Likewise  the  ass-tonishin'  and  beautiful  Lady  Paulino- 
lotti,  as  will  swaller  swords,  sabres,  bay'nets,  also  chewin' 
up  glass,  and  bottles  quicker  than  you  can  wink  [young 
man]."  (Bang!)  "Not  to  mention  Catamaplasus,  the 
Fire  Fiend,  what  burns  hisself  with  red-hot  irons,  and  likes 
it,  drinks  liquid  fire  with  gusto  —  playfully  spittin'  forth 
the  same,  together  with  flame  and  sulphurous  smoke,  and  all 
for  sixpence  [young man]."  (Bang!)  "O  my  stars!  step 
up  [young  man]  and  all  for  a  tanner."     (Bang!) 

Presently,  his  eye  being  off  me  for  the  moment,  I  edged 
my  way  out  of  the  throng  and  so  came  to  where  a  man 
stood  mounted  upon  a  cart.  Beside  him  was  a  fellow  in 
a  clown's  habit  who  blew  loudly  three  times  upon  a  trum- 
pet, which  done,  the  man  took  off  his  hat  and  began  to 
harangue  the  crowd,  something  in  this  wise: 

"  I  come  before  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  not  for  vulgar 
gain  —  or,  as  I  might  say  —  kudos,  which  is  Eyetalian 


Happenings  at  the  Fair        211 

for  the  same  —  not  to  put  my  hands  into  your  pockets 
and  rifle  'em  of  your  honestly  earned  money ;  no,  I  come 
before  you  for  the  good  of  each  one  of  you,  for  the  easing 
of  suffering  mankind  —  as  I  might  say  —  the  ha-mehora- 
tion  of  stricken  humanity.  In  a  word,  I  am  here  to  intro- 
duce to  you  what  I  call  my  Elixir  Anthropos  —  Anthropos, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  is  an  old  and  very  ancient  Egyptian 
word  meaning  man  —  or  woman,  for  that  matter,"  etc. 

During  this  exordium  I  had  noticed  a  venerable  man  in 
a  fine  blue  surtout  and  a  wide-brimmed  hat,  who  sat  upon 
the  shaft  of  a  cart  and  puffed  slowly  at  a  great  pipe. 
And  as  he  puffed,  he  listened  intently  to  the  quack-salver's 
address,  and  from  time  to  time  his  eyes  would  twinkle  and 
his  lips  curve  in  an  ironic  smile.  The  cart,  upon  the  shaft 
of  which  he  sat,  stood  close  to  a  very  small,  dirty,  and 
disreputable-looking  tent,  towards  which  the  old  gentle- 
man's back  was  turned.  Now,  as  I  watched,  I  saw  the 
point  of  a  knife  gleam  through  the  dirty  cdnvas,  which, 
vanishing,  gave  place  to  a  hand  protruded  through  the  slit 
thus  made  —  a  very  large  hand  with  bony  knuckles,  and 
long  fingers,  upon  one  of  which  was  a  battered  ring.  For 
an  instant  the  hand  hovered  undecidedly,  then  darted  for- 
ward —  the  long  skirts  of  the  old  gentleman's  coat  hardly 
stirred,  yet,  even  as  I  watched,  I  saw  the  hand  vanish  with 
a  fat  purse  in  its  clutches. 

Skirting  the  tent,  I  came  round  to  the  opening,  and 
stooping,  peered  cautiously  inside.  There,  sure  enough, 
was  my  pickpocket  gazing  intently  into  the  open  purse, 
and  chuckling  as  he  gazed.  Then  he  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket,  and  out  he  came  —  where  I  immediately  pinned 
him  by  the  neckerchief. 

And,  after  a  while,  finding  he  could  not  again  break  my 
hold,  he  lay  still,  beneath  me,  panting,  and,  as  he  lay,  his  one 
eye  glared  more  balefully  and  his  other  leered  more  wag- 
gishly than  ever,  as  I,  thrusting  my  hand  into  his  pocket, 
took  thence  the  purse,  and  transferred  it  to  my  own. 

"  Halves,  mate !  "  he  panted,  "  halves,  and  we  '11  cry 
*  quits.' 


J »» 


2  12  The  Broad  Highway 

"  By  no  means,"  said  I,  rising  to  my  feet,  but  keeping 
my  grip  upon  him. 

"  Then  what  's  your  game  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  hand  you  over  as  a  pickpocket." 

"  That  means  '  Transportation  ' !  "  said  he,  wiping  the 
blood  from  his  face,  for  the  struggle,  though  short,  had 
been  sharp  enough. 

"Well.?"  said  I. 

"  It  '11  go  'ard  with  the  babby." 

"  Baby !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Ah !  —  or  the  hinf ant,  if  you  like  it  better  —  one  as  I 
found  in  a  shawl,  a-laying  on  the  steps  o'  my  van  one  night, 
sleeping  like  a  alderman  —  and  it  were  snowing  too." 

"  Yet  you  are  a  thief !  " 

"  We  calls  it  '  faking.'  " 

"  And  ought  to  be  given  up  to  the  authorities." 

"  And  who  's  to  look  arter  the  babby?  " 

"  Are  you  married.''  " 

"  No." 

"Where  is  the  baby.?" 

"  In  my  van." 

"  And  where  is  that  ?  " 

"  Yonder !  "  and  he  pointed  to  a  gayly-painted  caravan 
that  stood  near  by.  "  'E  's  asleep  now,  but  if  you  'd  like 
to  take  a  peep  at  'im  —  " 

"  I  should,"  said  I.  Whereupon  the  fellow  led  me  to 
his  van,  and,  following  him  up  the  steps,  I  entered  a  place 
which,  though  confined,  was  wonderfully  neat  and  clean, 
with  curtains  at  the  open  windows,  a  rug  upon  the  floor, 
and  an  ornamental  brass  lamp  pendent  from  the  roof.  At 
the  far  end  was  a  bed,  or  rather,  berth,  curtained  with 
chintz,  and  upon  this  bed,  his  chubby  face  pillowed  upon 
a  dimpled  fist,  lay  a  very  small  man  indeed.  And,  looking 
up  from  him  to  the  very  large,  bony  man,  bending  over 
him,  I  surprised  a  look  upon  the  hardened  face  —  a  ten- 
derness that  seemed  very  much  out  of  place. 

"  Nice  and  fat,  ain't  'e.?  "  said  the  man,  touching  the 
baby's  apple-like  cheek  with  a  grimy  finger. 


Happenings  at  the  Fair        213 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah  —  and  so  'e  should  be,  James !  But  you  should 
see  'ira  eat,  a  alderman  's  nothing  to  Lewis  —  I  calls  'im 
Lewis,  for  't  were  at  LeA^asham  I  found  'im,  on  a  Christ- 
mas Eve  —  snowing  it  was,  but,  by  James !  it  did  n't 
bother  'im  —  not  a  bit." 

"  And  why  did  you  keep  him.''  —  there  was  the  parish." 

"  Parish !  "  repeated  the  man  bitterly.  "  I  were  brought 
up  by  the  parish  myself  —  and  a  nice  job  they  made  o' 
me!" 

"  Don't  you  find  him  a  great  trouble.''  " 

"  Trouble !  "  exclaimed  the  man.  "  Lewis  ain't  no 
trouble  —  not  a  bit  —  never  was,  and  he  's  great  com- 
pany when  I  'm  on  the  move  from  one  town  to  another  — 
larning  to  talk  a'ready." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  when  we  had  descended  from  the  van, 
"  I  propose  to  return  this  purse  to  the  owner,  if  he  is  to  be 
found;    if  not,  I  shall  hand  it  to  the  proper  authorities." 

"  Walker !  "  exclaimed  the  man. 

"  You  shall  yourself  witness  the  restitution,"  said  I, 
unheeding  his  remark,  "  after  which  —  " 

"  Well !  "  said  he,  glancing  back  toward  his  caravan,  and 
moistening  his  lips  as  I  tightened  my  grip  upon  his  arm, 
"  what  about  me  ?  " 

"  You  can  go  —  for  Lewis's  sake  —  if  you  will  give  me 
your  word  to  live  honestly  henceforth." 

"  You  have  it,  sir  —  I  swear  it  —  on  the  Bible  if  you 
like." 

"  Then  let  us  seek  the  owner  of  this  purse."  So,  coming 
in  a  while  to  where  the  quack  doctor  was  still  holding  forth 
—  there,  yet  seated  upon  the  shaft  of  the  cart,  puffing  at 
his  great  pipe,  was  the  venerable  man.  At  sight  of  him  the 
pickpocket  stopped  and  caught  my  arm. 

"  Come,  master,"  said  he,  "  come,  you  never  mean  to 
give  up  all  that  good  money  —  there  's  fifty  guineas,  and 
more,  in  that  purse !  " 

"  All  the  more  reason  to  return  it,"  said  I. 

"  No,  don't  —  don't  go  a-wasting  good  money  like  that 


2  14  The  Broad  Highway 

—  it 's  like  throwing  it  away ! "  But  shaking  off  the 
fellow's  importunate  handy  I  approached,  and  saluted  the 
venerable  man. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  you  have  had  your  pocket  picked." 

He  turned  and  regarded  me  with  a  pair  of  deep-set,  very 
bright  eyes,  and  blew  a  whiff  of  smoke  slowly  into  the  air. 

"  Sir,"  he  replied,  "  I  found  that  out  five  minutes  ago." 

"  The  fact  seems  to  trouble  you  very  little,"  said  I. 

"  There,  sir,  being  young,  and  judging  exteriorly,  you 
are  wrong.  There  is  recounted  somewhere  in  the  classics 
an  altogether  incredible  story  of  a  Spartan  youth  and  a 
fox:  the  boy,  with  the  animal  hid  beneath  his  cloak,  pre- 
served an  unruffled  demeanor  despite  the  animal's  tearing 
teeth,  until  he  fell  down  and  died.  In  the  same  way,  young 
sir,  no  man  can  lose  fifty-odd  guineas  from  his  pocket  and 
remain  unaffected  by  the  loss." 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  return 
your  purse  to  you."  He  took  it,  opened  it,  glanced  over 
its  contents,  looked  at  me,  took  out  two  guineas,  looked  at 
me  again,  put  the  money  back,  closed  the  purse,  and,  drop- 
ping it  into  his  pocket,  bowed  his  acknowledgment.  Hav- 
ing done  which,  he  made  room  for  me  to  sit  beside  him. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  chuckling,  "  hark  to  that  lovely  rascal 
in  the  cart,  yonder  —  hark  to  him ;  Galen  was  an  ass  and 
Hippocrates  a  dunce  beside  this  fellow  —  hark  to  him." 

"  There  's  nothing  like  pills !  "  the  Quack-salver  was 
saying  at  the  top  of  his  voice ;  "  place  one  upon  the  tip  o' 
the  tongue  —  in  this  fashion  —  take  a  drink  o'  water, 
beer,  or  wine,  as  the  case  may  be,  give  a  couple  o'  swallers, 
and  there  you  are.  Oh,  there  's  nothing  in  the  world  like 
pills,  and  there  's  nothing  like  my  Elixir  Anthropos  for 
coughs,  colds,  and  the  rheumatics,  for  sore  throats,  sore 
eyes,  sore  backs  —  good  for  the  croup,  measles,  and 
chicken-pox  —  a  certain  cure  for  dropsy,  scurvy,  and  the 
king's  evil ;  there  's  no  disease  or  ailment,  discovered  or 
invented,  as  my  pills  won't  soothe,  heal,  ha-meliorate,  and 
charm  away,  and  all  I  charge  is  one  shilling  a  box.  Hand 
'em  round,  Jonas."     Whereupon  the  fellow  in  the  clown's 


Happenings  at  the  Fair        215 

dress,  stepping  down  from  the  cart,  began  handing  out  the 
boxes  of  pills  and  taking  in  the  shillings  as  fast  as  he 
conveniently  could. 

"  A  thriving  trade !  "  said  my  venerable  companion ; 
**  it  always  has  been,  and  always  will,  for  Humanity  is  a 
many-headed  fool,  and  loves  to  be  *  bamboozled.'  These 
honest  folk  are  probably  paying  for  bread  pellets  com- 
pounded with  a  little  soap,  yet  will  go  home,  swallow  them 
in  all  good  faith,  and  think  themselves  a  great  deal  better 
for  them." 

"  And  therefore,"  said  I,  "  probably  derive  as  much 
benefit  from  them  as  from  any  drug  yet  discovered." 

"  Young  man,"  said  my  companion,  giving  me  a  sharp 
glance,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Plainly,  sir,  that  a  man  who  believes  himself  cured  of, 
a  disease  is  surely  on  the  high  road  to  recovery." 

"  But  a  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  that  rascal's  bread  pellets 
cannot  make  them  anything  but  bread  pellets." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  but  it  may  effect  great  things  with  the 
disease." 

"  Young  man,  don't  tell  me  that  you  are  a  believer  in 
Faith  Healing,  and  such-like  tomfoolery ;  disease  is  a  great 
and  terrible  reality,  and  must  be  met  and  overcome  by  a 
real  means." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,  may  it  not  be  rather  the  outcome 
of  a  preconceived  idea  —  of  a  belief  that  has  been  held 
universally  for  many  ages  and  generations  of  men?  I  do 
not  deny  disease  —  who  could?  but  suffering  and  disease 
have  been  looked  upon  from  the  earliest  days  as  punish- 
ments wrought  out  upon  a  man  for  his  sins.  Now,  may  not 
the  haunting  fear  of  this  retributive  justice  be  greatly  re- 
sponsible for  suffering  and  disease  of  all  kinds,  since  the 
mind  unquestionably  reacts  upon  the  body?  " 

"  Probably,  sir,  probably,  but  since  disease  is  with  us, 
how  would  you  propose  to  remedy  it?  " 

"  By  disbelieving  in  it ;  by  regarding  it  as  something 
abnormal  and  utterly  foreign  to  the  divine  order  of 
things." 


2i6  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Pooh !  "  exclaimed  my  venerable  companion.     "  Bah ! 

—  quite,  quite  impracticable !  " 

"  They  say  the  same  of  '  The  Sermon  on  the  Mount,* 
sir,"  I  retorted. 

"  Can  a  man,  wasting  away  in  a  decline,  discredit  the 
fact  that  he  is  dying  with  every  breath  he  draws  ?  " 

"  Had  you,  or  I,  or  any  man,  the  Christ-power  to  teach 
him  a  disbelief  in  his  sickness,  then  would  he  be  hale  and 
well.  The  Great  Physician  healed  all  diseases  thus,  with- 
out the  aid  of  drugs,  seeking  only  to  implant  in  the  mind 
of  each  sufferer  the  knowledge  that  he  was  whole  and  sound 

—  that  is  to  say,  a  total  disbelief  in  his  malady.  How 
many  times  do  we  read  the  words :  '  Thy  faith  hath  made 
thee  whole  '  ?  All  He  demanded  of  them  was  faith  —  or,  as 
I  say,  a  disbelief  in  their  disease." 

"  Then  the  cures  of  Christ  were  not  miracles  ?  " 

"  No  more  so  than  any  great  and  noble  work  is  a 
miracle." 

"  And  do  you,"  inquired  my  companion,  removing  his 
pipe  from  his  lips,  and  staring  at  me  very  hard,  "  do  you 
believe  that  Jesus  Christ  was  the  Son  of  God.'^  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  in  the  same  way  that  you  and  I  are,  and 
the  Quack-salver  yonder." 

"  But  was  He  divine.''  " 

"  Surely  a  mighty  thinker  —  a  great  teacher  whose  hand 
points  the  higher  way,  whose  words  inspire  Humanity  to 
nobler  ends  and  aims,  is,  of  necessity,  divine." 

"  You  are  a  very  bold  young  man,  and  talk,  I  think,  a 
little  wildly." 

"  Heterodoxy  has  been  styled  so  before,  sir." 

"  And  a  very  young,  young  man." 

"  That,  sir,  will  be  amended  by  time."  Here,  puffing  at 
his  pipe,  and  finding  it  gone  out,  he  looked  at  me  in 
surprise. 

"  Remarkable !  "  said  he. 

"What  is,  sir.?" 

"  W^hile  I  listened  to  you  I  have  actually  let  my  pipe  go 
out  —  a  thing  which   rarely  happens  with  me."     As  he 


Happenings  at  the  Fair         217 

spoke  he  thrust  one  hand  into  his  pocket,  when  he  glanced 
slowly  all  round,  and  back  once  more  to  me. 

"  Remarkable !  "  said  he  again. 

"What  now,  sir?" 

"  My  purse  has  gone  again !  " 

"  What !  —  gone !  "  I  ejaculated. 

"  Vanished !  "  said  he,  and,  to  prove  his  words,  turned 
inside  out  first  one  pocket  and  then  the  other. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  I,  springing  up,  "  there  is  yet  a 
chance  that  we  may  possibly  recover  it."  Forthwith  I  led 
him  to  where  had  stood  a  certain  gayly-painted  caravan,  but 
it  was  gone  —  vanished  as  utterly  as  my  companion's  purse. 

"  Most  annoying !  "  said  he,  shaking  his  venerable  head, 
"  really  most  exasperating  —  I  particularly  wished  to  se- 
cure a  sample  of  that  fellow's  pills  —  the  collection  of 
quack  remedies  is  a  fad  of  mine  —  as  it  is  —  " 

"  My  purse  is  entirely  at  your  disposal,  sir,"  said  I, 
"  though,  to  be  sure,  a  very  —  "  But  there  I  stopped, 
staring,  in  my  turn,  blankly  at  him. 

*'  Ha  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded,  "  the  rascal  made  off  with  my  purse 
also ;  we  are  companions  in  misfortune." 

"  Then  as  such,  young  sir,  come  and  dine  with  me,  my 
habitation  is  but  a  little  way  off." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  am  half  expecting  to  meet  with 
certain  good  friends  of  mine,  though  I  am  none  the  less 
honored  by  your  offer." 

"  So  be  it,  young  sir ;  then  permit  me  to  wish  you  a  very, 
'Good  day !'"  and,  touching  the  brim  of  his  hat  with  the  long 
stem  of  his  pipe,  the  Venerable  Man  turned  and  left  me. 

Howbeit,  though  I  looked  diligently  on  all  hands,  I  saw 
nothing  of  Simon  or  the  Ancient ;  thus  evening  was  falling 
as,  bending  my  steps  homeward,  I  came  to  a  part  of  the 
Fair  where  drinking-booths  had  been  set  up,  and  where 
they  were  preparing  to  roast  an  ox  whole,  as  is  the  im- 
memorial custom.  Drinking  was  going  on,  with  its  usual 
accompaniment  of  boisterous  merriment  and  rough  horse- 
play —  the  vulgarity  of  which  ever  annoys  me.     Two  or 


2  1 8  The  Broad  Highway 

three  times  I  was  rudely  jostled  as  I  made  my  way  along, 
so  that  my  temper  was  already  something  the  worse,  when, 
turning  aside  to  avoid  all  this,  I  came  full  upon  two  fel- 
lows, well-to-do  farmers,  by  their  look,  who  held  a  strug- 
gling girl  between  them  —  to  each  of  whom  I  reached  out 
a  hand,  and,  gripping  them  firmly  by  their  collars,  brought 
their  two  heads  together  with  a  sounding  crack  —  and  then 
I  saw  that  the  girl  was  Prudence.  Next  moment  we  were 
running,  hand  in  hand,  with  the  two  fellows  roaring  in 
pursuit.  But  Prudence  was  wonderfully  fleet  and  light  of 
foot,  wherefore,  doubling  and  turning  among  carts,  tents, 
and  booths,  we  had  soon  outstripped  our  pursuers,  and  rid 
ourselves  of  them  altogether.  In  spite  of  which  Prudence 
still  ran  on  till,  catching  her  foot  in  some  obstacle,  she 
tripped,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  my  arm. 

And  looking  down  into  her  flushed  face,  glowing  through 
the  sweet  disorder  of  her  glossy  curls,  I  could  not  but  think 
how  lovely  she  was.  But,  as  I  watched,  the  color  fled  from 
her  cheeks,  her  eyes  dilated,  and  she  started  away  from  me. 

Now,  turning  hastily,  I  saw  that  we  were  standing  close 
by  a  certain  small,  dirty,  and  disreputable-looking  tent, 
the  canvas  of  which  had  been  slit  with  a  knife  —  and  my 
movement  had  been  quick  enough  to  enable  me  to  see  a  face 
vanish  through  the  canvas.  And,  fleeting  though  the 
glimpse  had  been,  yet,  in  the  lowering  brow,  the  baleful 
glare  of  the  eye,  and  the  set  of  the  great  jaw,  I  had  seen  — 
Death. 

And,  after  we  had  walked  on  a  while  together,  looking 
at  Prue,  I  noticed  that  she  trembled. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Peter,*'  she  whispered,  glancing  back  over  her 
shoulder,  "  did  ye  see?  " 

"  Yes,  Prudence,  I  saw."  And,  speaking,  I  also  glanced 
back  towards  the  villainous  little  tent,  and  though  the  face 
appeared  no  more,  I  was  aware,  nevertheless,  of  a  sudden 
misgiving  that  was  almost  like  a  foreboding  of  evil  to  come ; 
for  in  those  features,  disfigured  though  they  were  with 
black  rage  and  passion,  I  had  recognized  the  face  of  Black 
George. 


A    WORD    TO    THE    READER 

Remembering  the  very  excellent  advice  of  my  friend  the 
Tinker  as  to  the  writing  of  a  good  "  nov-el,"  I  am  per- 
turbed, and  not  a  little  discouraged,  upon  looking  over 
these  pages,  to  find  that  I  have,  as  yet,  described  no  des- 
perate hand-to-hand  encounters,  no  hairbreadth  escapes 
(unless  a  bullet  through  one's  hat  may  be  justly  so  re- 
garded), and,  above  all  —  not  one  word  of  Love! 

You,  sir,  who  have  expectantly  borne  with  me  thus  far, 
may  be  tempted  to  close  the  book  in  a  huff,  and;  hurling 
it  from  you,  with  a  deep-voiced  anathema,  clap  on  your 
hat,  and  sally  forth  into  the  sunshine. 

Or  you,  madam,  breathing  a  sigh  o'er  hopes  deferred, 
may  take  up  needle,  and  silk,  and  turn  you,  once  again, 
to  that  embroidery  which  has  engaged  your  dainty  fingers 
this  twelvemonth  and  more,  yet  which,  like  Penelope's  web, 
would  seem  no  nearer  completion. 

Ah  well,  sir !  exercise,  especially  walking,  is  highly  bene- 
ficial to  the  liver,  they  tell  me  —  and  nothing,  madam,  be- 
lieve me  (unless  it  be  playing  the  harp),  can  show  off  a 
pretty  hand,  or  the  delicate  curves  of  a  shapely  wrist  and 
arm  to  such  advantage  as  that  self-same  embroidery.  But 
since  needlework  (like  books  and  all  sublunary  things)  is 
apt  to  grow  monotonous,  you  may,  perchance,  for  lack  of 
better  occupation,  be  driven  to  address  yourself,  once  more, 
to  this,  my  Narrative. 

And  since  you,  sir,  no  matter  how  far  you  walk,  must, 
of  necessity,  return  to  your  chair  and  chimney-corner,  it 
is  possible  that,  having  dined  adequately,  and  lighted  your 


2  20  The  Broad  Highway 

pipe  (and  being  therefore  in  a  more  charitable  and  tem- 
perate frame  of  mind),  you  may  lift  my  volume  from  the 
dusty  corner  where  it  has  lain  all  this  while,  and  (though 
probably  with  sundry  grunts  and  snorts,  indicative  that 
the  thing  is  done  under  protest,  as  it  were)  reopen  these 
pages. 

In  the  which  hope,  dear  madam,  and  you,  noble  sir,  I 
here  commence  this,  my  Second  Book  —  which,  as  you  see, 
is  headed  thus : 

THE    WOMAN 


BOOK    TWO 
THE    WOMAN 


BOOK    TWO 
THE    WOMAN 

CHAPTER    I 

OF    STORM,    AND    TEMPEST,    AND    OF    THE    COMING    OF 
CHAEMIAN 

I  WAS  at  sea  in  an  open  boat.  Out  of  the  pitch-black 
heaven  there  rushed  a  mighty  wind,  and  the  pitch-black 
seas  above  me  rose  high,  and  ever  higher,  flecked  with  hiss- 
ing white ;  wherefore  I  cast  me  face  downwards  in  my  little 
boat,  that  I  might  not  behold  the  horror  of  the  waters; 
and  above  their  ceaseless,  surging  thunder  there  rose  a 
long-drawn  cry: 

"  Charmian ! " 

I  stood  upon  a  desolate  moor,  and  the  pitiless  rain  lashed 
me,  and  the  fierce  wind  buffeted  me ;  and,  out  of  the  gloom 
where  frowning  earth  and  heaven  met  —  there  rose  a  long- 
drawn  cry: 

«  Charmian." 

I  started  up  in  bed,  broad  awake,  and  listening;  yet  the 
tumult  was  all  about  me  still  —  the  hiss  and  beat  of  rain, 
and  the  sound  of  a  rushing,  mighty  wind  —  a  wind  that 
seemed  to  fill  the  earth  —  a  wind  that  screamed  about  me, 
that  howled  above  me,  and  filled  the  woods,  near  and  far, 
with  a  deep  booming,  pierced,  now  and  then,  by  the  splin- 
tering crash  of  snapping  bough  or  falling  tree.  And  yet, 
somewhere  in  this  frightful  pandemonium  of  sound,  blended 
in  with  it,  yet  not  of  it,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  cry  still 
faintly  echoed: 


2  24  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Charmian." 

So  appalling  was  all  this  to  my  newly-awakened  senses, 
that  I  remained,  for  a  time,  staring  into  the  darkness  as 
one  dazed.  Presently,  however,  I  rose,  and,  donning  some 
clothes,  mended  the  fire  which  still  smouldered  upon  the 
hearth,  and,  having  filled  and  lighted  my  pipe,  sat  down 
to  listen  to  the  awful  voices  of  the  storm. 

What  brain  could  conceive  —  what  pen  describe  that 
elemental  chorus,  like  the  mighty  voice  of  persecuted  Hu- 
manity, past  and  present,  crying  the  woes  and  ills,  the 
sorrows  and  torments,  endured  of  all  the  ages?  To-night, 
surely,  the  souls  of  the  unnumbered  dead  rode  within  the 
storm,  and  this  was  the  voice  of  their  lamentation. 

From  the  red  mire  of  battlefields  are  they  come,  from  the 
flame  and  ravishment  of  fair  cities,  from  dim  and  reeking 
dungeons,  from  the  rack,  the  stake,  and  the  gibbet,  to 
pierce  the  heavens  once  more  with  the  voice  of  their  agony. 

Since  the  world  was  made,  how  many  have  lived  and 
suffered,  and  died,  unlettered  and  unsung  —  snatched  by  a 
tyrant's  whim  from  life  to  death,  in  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
in  the  gloom  of  night,  in  blood  and  flame,  and  torment? 
Indeed,  their  name  is  "  Legion." 

But  there  is  a  great  and  awful  Book,  whose  leaves  are 
countless,  yet  every  leaf  of  which  is  smirched  with  blood 
and  fouled  with  nameless  sins,  a  record,  howsoever  brief 
and  inadequate,  of  human  suffering,  wherein  as  "  through 
a  glass,  darkly,"  we  may  behold  horrors  unimagined; 
where  Murder  stalks,  and  rampant  Lust;  where  Treachery 
creeps  with  curving  back,  smiling  mouth,  and  sudden, 
deadly  hand ;  where  Tyranny,  fierce-eyed,  and  iron-lipped, 
grinds  the  nations  beneath  a  bloody  heel.  Truly,  man  hath 
no  enemy  like  man.  And  Christ  is  there,  and  Socrates,  and 
Savonarola  —  and  there,  too,  is  a  cross  of  agony,  a  bowl 
of  hemlock,  and  a  consuming  fire. 

Oh,  noble  martyrs !  by  whose  blood  and  agony  the  world 
is  become  a  purer  and  better  place  for  us,  and  those  who 
shall  come  after  us  —  Oh  glorious,  innumerable  host !  thy 
poor,  maimed  bodies  were  dust  ages  since,  but  thy  souls 


The  Coming  of  Charmian      225 

live  on  in  paradise,  and  thy  memory  abides,  and  shall  abide 
in  the  earth,  forever. 

Ye  purblind,  ye  pessimists,  existing  with  no  hope  of  a 
resurrection,  bethink  you  of  these  matters ;  go,  open  the 
great  and  awful  Book,  and  read  and  behold  these  things 
for  yourselves  —  for  what  student  of  history  is  there  but 
must  be  persuaded  of  man's  immortality  —  that,  though 
this  poor  flesh  be  mangled,  torn  asunder,  burned  to 
ashes,  yet  the  soul,  rising  beyond  the  tyrant's  reach, 
soars  triumphant  above  death  and  this  sorry  world,  to 
the  refuge  of  "  the  everlasting  arms ;  "  for  God  is  a  just 
God! 

Now,  in  a  while,  becoming  conscious  that  my  pipe  was 
smoked  out  and  cold,  I  reached  up  my  hand  to  my  tobacco- 
box  upon  the  mantelshelf.  Yet  I  did  not  reach  it  down, 
for,  even  as  my  fingers  closed  upon  it,  above  the  wailing  of 
the  storm,  above  the  hiss  and  patter  of  driven  rain,  there 
rose  a  long-drawn  cry: 

"  Charmian !  " 

So,  remembering  the  voice  I  had  seemed  to  hear  calling 
in  my  dream,  I  sat  there  with  my  hand  stretched  up  to  my 
tobacco-box,  and  my  face  screwed  round  to  the  casement 
behind  me,  that,  as  I  watched,  shook  and  rattled  beneath 
each  wind-gust,  as  if  some  hand  strove  to  pluck  it  open. 

How  long  I  remained  thus,  with  my  hand  stretched  up 
to  my  tobacco-box,  and  my  eyes  upon  this  window,  I  am 
unable  to  say,  but,  all  at  once,  the  door  of  the  cottage  burst 
open  with  a  crash,  and  immediately  the  quiet  room  was  full 
of  rioting  wind  and  tempest;  such  a  wind  as  stopped  my 
breath,  and  sent  up  a  swirl  of  smoke  and  sparks  from  the 
fire.  And,  borne  upon  this  wind,  like  some  spirit  of  the 
storm,  was  a  woman  with  flying  draperies  and  long,  stream- 
ing hair,  who  turned,  and,  with  knee  and  shoulder,  forced 
to  the  door,  and  so  leaned  there,  panting. 

Tall  she  was,  and  nobly  shaped,  for  her  wet  gown  clung, 
disclosing  the  sinuous  lines  of  her  waist  and  the  bold,  full 
curves  of  hip  and  thigh.  Her  dress,  too,  had  been  wrenched 
and  torn  at  the  neck,  and,  through  the  shadow  of  her 


2  26  The  Broad  Highway 

fallen  hair,  I  caught  the  ivory  gleam  of  her  shoulder,  and 
the  heave  and  tumult  of  her  bosom. 

Here  I  reached  down  ray  tobacco-box  and  mechanically 
began  to  fill  my  pipe,  watching  her  the  while. 

Suddenly  she  started,  and  seemed  to  listen.  Then,  with 
a  swift,  stealthy  movement,  she  slipped  from  before  the 
door,  and  I  noticed  that  she  hid  one  hand  behind  her. 

"  Charmian !  " 

The  woman  crouched  back  against  the  wall,  with  her 
eyes  towards  the  door,  and  always  her  right  hand  was  hid- 
den in  the  folds  of  her  petticoat.  So  we  remained,  she 
watching  the  door,  and  I,  her. 

"  Charmian !  " 

The  voice  was  very  near  now,  and,  almost  immediately 
after,  there  came  a  loud  "  view  hallo,"  and  a  heavy  fist 
pounded  upon  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Charmian,  you  're  there  —  yes,  yes  —  inside  —  I 
know  you  are.  I  swore  you  should  never  escape  me,  and 
you  sha'n't  —  by  God !  "  A  hand  fumbled  upon  the  latch, 
the  door  swung  open,  and  a  man  entered.  As  he  did  so 
I  leapt  forward,  and  caught  the  woman's  wrist.  There  was 
a  blinding  flash,  a  loud  report,  and  a  bullet  buried  itself 
somewhere  in  the  rafters  overhead.  With  a  strange,  re- 
pressed cry,  she  turned  upon  me  so  fiercely  that  I  fell  back 
before  her. 

The  newcomer,  meantime,  had  closed  the  door,  latching 
it  very  carefully,  and  now,  standing  before  it,  folded  his 
arms,  staring  at  her  with  bent  head.  He  was  a  very  tall 
man,  with  a  rain-sodden,  bell-crowned  hat  crushed  low 
upon  his  brows,  and  wrapped  in  a  long,  many-caped  over- 
coat, the  skirts  of  which  were  woefully  mired  and  torn. 
All  at  once  he  laughed,  very  softly  and  musically. 

"  So,  you  would  have  killed  me,  would  you,  Charmian 
—  shot  me  —  like  a  dog?  "  His  tone  was  soft  as  his  laugh 
and  equally  musical,  and  yet  neither  was  good  to  hear. 
"  So  you  thought  you  had  lost  me,  did  you,  when  you  gave 
me  the  slip,  a  while  ago?  Lose  me?  Escape  me?  Why, 
I  tell  you,  I  would  search  for  you  day  and  night  —  hunt 


The  Coming  of  Charmian      227 

the  world  over  until  I  found  you,  Charmian  —  until  I  found 
you,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head  and  speaking  almost  in  a 
whisper.     "  I  would,  by  God !  " 

The  woman  neither  moved  nor  uttered  a  word,  only  her 
breath  came  thick  and  fast,  and  her  eyes  gleamed  in  the 
shadow  of  her  hair. 

They  stood  facing  each  other,  like  two  adversaries,  each 
measuring  the  other's  strength,  without  appearing  to  be 
conscious  of  my  presence ;  indeed,  the  man  had  not  so  much 
as  looked  toward  me  even  when  I  had  struck  up  the  pistol. 

Now,  with  every  minute  I  was  becoming  more  curious 
to  see  this  man's  face,  hidden  as  it  was  in  the  shadow  of 
his  dripping  hat  brim.     Yet  the  fire  had  burned  low. 

"  You  always  were  a  spitfire,  were  n't  you,  Charmian?  " 
he  went  on  in  the  same  gentle  voice ;  "  hot,  and  fierce,  and 
proud  —  the  flame  beneath  the  ice  —  I  knew  that,  and  loved 
you  the  better  for  it;  and  so  I  determined  to  win  you, 
Charmian  —  to  win  you  whether  you  would  or  no.     And 

—  you  are  so  strong  —  so  tall,  and  glorious,  and  strong, 
Charmian !  " 

His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  murmur  again,  and  he  drew  a 
slow  step  nearer  to  her. 

"  How  wonderful  you  are,  Charmian !  I  always  loved 
your  shoulders  and  that  round,  white  throat.  Loved.? 
Worshipped  them,  worshipped  them !  And  to-night  —  " 
He  paused,  and  I  felt,  rather  than  saw,  that  he  was  smil- 
ing.    "  And  to-night  you  would  have  killed  me,  Charmian 

—  shot  me  —  like  a  dog !  But  I  would  not  have  it  differ- 
ent.   You  have  flouted,  coquetted,  scorned,  and  mocked  me 

—  for  three  years,  Charmian,  and  to-night  you  would  have 
killed  me  —  and  I  —  would  not  have  it  otherwise,  for  surely 
you  can  see  that  this  of  itself  must  make  your  final  sur- 
render —  even  sweeter." 

With  a  gesture  utterly  at  variance  with  his  voice,  so 
sudden,  fierce,  and  passionate  was  it,  he  sprang  toward  her 
with  outstretched  arms.  But,  quick  as  he,  she  eluded  him, 
and,  before  he  could  reach  her,  I  stepped  between  them. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  a  word  with  you." 


2  28  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Out  of  my  way,  bumpkin  ! "  he  retorted,  and,  brushing 
me  aside,  made  after  her.  I  caught  him  by  the  skirts  of 
his  long,  loose  coat,  but,  with  a  dexterous  twist,  he  had 
left  it  in  my  grasp.  Yet  the  check,  momentary  though  it 
was,  enabled  her  to  slip  through  the  door  of  that  room 
which  had  once  been  Donald's,  and,  before  he  could  reach 
it,  I  stood  upon  the  threshold.  He  regarded  me  for  a 
moment  beneath  his  hat  brim,  and  seemed  undecided  how 
to  act. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  he  at  last,  "  I  will  buy  your 
cottage  of  you  —  for  to-night  —  name  your  price." 

I  shook  my  head.  Hereupon  he  drew  a  thick  purse  from 
his  pocket,  and  tossed  it,  chinking,  to  my  feet. 

"  There  are  two  hundred  guineas,  bumpkin,  maybe  more 
—  pick  them  up,  and  —  go,"  and  turning,  he  flung  open 
the  door. 

Obediently  I  stooped,  and,  taking  up  the  purse,  rolled 
it  in  the  coat  which  I  still  held,  and  tossed  both  out  of  the 
cottage. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  be  so  very  obliging  as  to  follow  your 
property." 

"  Ah !  "  he  murmured,  "  very  pretty,  on  my  soul !  "  And, 
in  that  same  moment,  his  knuckles  caught  me  fairly  between 
the  eyes,  and  he  was  upon  me  swift,  and  fierce,  and  Hthe 
as  a  panther. 

I  remember  the  glint  of  his  eyes  and  the  flash  of  his 
bared  teeth,  now  to  one  side  of  me,  now  to  the  other,  as 
we  swayed  to  and  fro,  overturning  the  chairs,  and  crashing 
into  unseen  obstacles.  In  that  dim  and  narrow  place  small 
chance  was  there  for  feint  or  parry ;  it  was  blind,  brutal 
work,  fierce,  and  grim,  and  silent.  Once  he  staggered  and 
fell  heavily,  carrying  the  table  crashing  with  him,  and  I 
saw  him  wipe  blood  from  his  face  as  he  rose;  and  once  I 
was  beaten  to  my  knees,  but  was  up  before  he  could  reach 
me  again,  though  the  fire  upon  the  hearth  spun  giddily 
round  and  round,  and  the  floor  heaved  oddly  beneath  my 
feet. 

Then,  suddenly,  hands  were  upon  my  throat,  and  I  could 


The  Coming  of  Charmian      229 

feel  the  hot  pant  of  his  breath  in  my  face,  breath  that  hissed 
and  whistled  between  clenched  teeth.  Desperately  I  strove 
to  break  his  hold,  to  tear  his  hands  asunder,  and  could  not; 
only  the  fingers  tightened  and  tightened. 

Up  and  down  the  room  we  staggered,  grim  and  voiceless 
—  out  through  the  open  door  —  out  into  the  whirling 
blackness  of  the  storm.  And  there,  amid  the  tempest, 
lashed  by  driving  rain  and  deafened  by  the  roaring  rush 
of  wind,  we  fought  —  as  our  savage  forefathers  may  have 
done,  breast  to  breast,  and  knee  to  knee  —  stubborn  and 
wild,  and  merciless  —  the  old,  old  struggle  for  supremacy 
and  life. 

I  beat  him  with  my  fists,  but  his  head  was  down  between 
his  arms ;  I  tore  at  his  wrists,  but  he  gripped  my  throat 
the  tighter;  and  now  we  were  down,  rolling  upon  the  sod- 
den grass,  and  now  we  were  up,  stumbling  and  slipping, 
but  ever  the  gripping  fingers  sank  the  deeper,  choking  the 
strength  and  life  out  of  me.  My  eyes  stared  up  into  a 
heaven  streaked  with  blood  and  fire,  there  was  the  taste 
of  sulphur  in  my  mouth,  my  arms  grew  weak  and  nerveless, 
and  the  roar  of  wind  seemed  a  thousand  times  more  loud. 
Then  —  something  clutched  and  dragged  us  by  the  feet, 
we  tottered,  swayed  helplessly,  and  plunged  down  together. 
But,  as  we  fell,  the  deadly,  gripping  fingers  slackened  for 
a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  I  had  broken  free,  and, 
rolling  clear,  stumbled  up  to  my  feet.  Yet  even  then  I  was 
still  encumbered,  and,  stooping  down,  found  the  skirts  of 
the  overcoat  twisted  tightly  about  my  foot  and  ankle. 
Now,  as  I  loosed  it,  I  inwardly  blessed  that  tattered  gar- 
ment, for  it  seemed  that  to  it  I  owed  my  life. 

So  I  stood,  panting,  and  waited  for  the  end.  I  remem- 
ber a  blind  groping  in  the  dark,  a  wild  hurly-burly  of 
random  blows,  a  sudden  sharp  pain  in  my  right  hand  — 
a  groan,  and  I  was  standing  with  the  swish  of  the  rain 
about  me,  and  the  moaning  of  the  wind  in  the  woods  beyond. 

How  long  I  remained  thus  I  cannot  tell,  for  I  was  as 
one  in  a  dream,  but  the  cool  rain  upon  my  face  refreshed 
me,  and  the  strong,  clean  wind  in  my  nostrils  was  wonder- 


230  The  Broad  Highway 

fully  grateful.  Presently,  raising  my  arm  stiffly,  I  brushed 
the  wet  hair  from  my  eyes,  and  stared  round  me  into  the 
pitchy  darkness,  in  quest  of  my  opponent. 

"  Where  are  you.-^  "  said  I  at  last,  and  this  was  the  first 
word  uttered  during  the  struggle;  "  where  are  you?  " 

Receiving  no  answer,  I  advanced  cautiously  (for  it  was, 
as  I  have  said,  black  dark),  and  so,  presently,  touched 
something  yielding  with  my  foot. 

"  Come  —  get  up !  "  said  I,  stooping  to  lay  a  hand  upon 
him,  "  get  up,  I  say."  But  he  never  moved ;  he  was  lying 
upon  his  face,  and,  as  I  raised  his  head,  my  fingers  en- 
countered a  smooth,  round  stone,  buried  in  the  grass,  and 
the  touch  of  that  stone  thrilled  me  from  head  to  foot  with 
sudden  dread.  Hastily  1  tore  open  waistcoat  and  shirt, 
and  pressed  my  hand  above  his  heart.  In  that  one  moment 
I  lived  an  age  of  harrowing  suspense,  then  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and,  rising,  took  him  beneath  the  arms  and  began 
to  half  drag,  half  carry  him  towards  the  cottage. 

I  had  proceeded  thus  but  some  dozen  yards  or  so  when, 
during  a  momentary  lull  in  the  storm,  I  thought  I  heard 
a  faint  "  Hallo,"  and  looking  about,  saw  a  twinkling  light 
that  hovered  to  and  fro,  coming  and  going,  yet  growing 
brighter  each  moment.  Setting  down  my  burden,  there- 
fore, I  hollowed  my  hands  about  my  mouth,  and  shouted. 

"  This  way !  "  I  called ;  "  this  way  !  " 

"Be  that  you,  sir.''"  cried  a  man's  voice  at  no  great 
distance. 

"  This  way !  "  I  called  again,  "  this  way !  "  The  words 
seemed  to  reassure  the  fellow,  for  the  light  advanced  once 
more,  and  as  he  came  up,  I  made  him  out  to  be  a  postilion 
by  his  dress,  and  the  light  he  carried  was  the  lanthorn  of 
a  chaise. 

"  Why  —  sir !  "  he  began,  looking  me  up  and  down,  by 
the  light  of  his  lanthorn,  "  strike  me  lucky  if  I  'd  ha' 
knowed  ye !  you  looks  as  if  —  oh.  Lord ! " 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  I,  wiping  the  rain  from  my  eyes 
^gain.  The  Postilion's  answer  was  to  lower  his  lanthorn 
towards  the  face  of  him  who  lay  on  the  ground  between  us, 


The  Coming  of  Charmian      231 

and  point.  Now,  looking  where  he  pointed,  I  started  sud- 
denly backwards,  and  shivered,  with  a  strange  stirring  of 
the  flesh. 

For  I  saw  a  pale  face  with  a  streak  of  blood  upon  the 
cheek  —  there  was  blood  upon  my  own ;  a  face  framed  in 
lank  hair,  thick  and  black  —  as  was  my  own ;  a  pale,  aqui- 
hne  face,  with  a  prominent  nose,  and  long,  cleft  chin  —  even 
as  my  own.  So,  as  I  stood  looking  down  upon  this  face, 
my  breath  caught,  and  my  flesh  crept,  for  indeed,  I  might 
have  been  looking  into  a  anrror  —  the  face  was  the  face 
0/  myself. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    POSTILION 

"  Good  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  Postilion,  and  fell  back  a 
step. 

"Well?"  said  I,  meeting  his  astonished  look  as  care- 
lessly as  I  might. 

"  Lord  love  me !  "  said  the  Postilion. 

"  What  now.?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  never  see  such  a  thing  as  this  'ere,"  said  he,  alter- 
nately glancing  from  me  down  to  the  outstretched  figure 
at  my  feet,  "  if  it 's  bewitchments,  or  only  enchantments, 
I  don't  like  it  —  strike  me  pink  if  I  do !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean.'*  " 

"  Eyes,"  continued  the  Postilion  slowly  and  heavily,  and 
with  his  glance  wandering  still  —  "  eyes,  same  —  nose, 
i-dentical  —  mouth,  when  not  bloody,  same  —  hair,  same 
—  figure,  same  —  no,  I  don't  like  it  —  it 's  onnat'ral !  tha'  's 
what  it  is." 

"  Come,  come,"  I  broke  in,  somewhat  testily,  "  don't 
stand  there  staring  like  a  fool  —  you  see  this  gentleman 
is  hurt." 

"  Onnat'ral 's  the  word !  "  went  on  the  Postilion,  more 
as  though  speaking  his  thoughts  aloud  than  addressing 
me,  "  it 's  a  onnat'ral  night  to  begin  with  —  seed  a  many 
bad  uns  in  my  time,  but  nothing  to  ekal  this  'ere,  that  I 
lost  my  way  are  n't  to  be  wondered  at ;  then  him,  and  her 
a- jumping  out  o'  the  chaise  and  a-running  off  into  the 
thick  o'  the  storm  —  that 's  onnat'ral  in  the  second  place ! 
and  then,  his  face,  and  your  face  —  that 's  the  most  onnat'- 
rallest  part  of  it  all  —  likewise,  I  never  see  one  man  in 


The  Postilion  233 

two  suits  o'  clothes  afore,  nor  yet  a-standing  up,  and  a-lay- 
ing  down  both  at  the  same  i-dentical  minute  —  onnat'ral  's 
the  word  —  and  —  I  'm  a-going." 

"  Stop ! "  said  I,  as  he  began  to  move  away. 

"  Not  on  no  account !  " 

"  Then  I  must  make  you,"  said  I,  and  doubled  my  fists. 

The  Postihon  eyed  me  over  from  head  to  foot,  and 
paused,  irresolute. 

"  What  might  you  be  wanting  with  a  peaceable,  civil- 
spoke  cove  like  me?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Where  is  your  chaise  ?  " 

"  Up  in  the  lane,  som'eres  over  yonder,"  answered  he, 
with  a  vague  jerk  of  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Then,  if  you  will  take  this  gentleman's  heels  we  can 
carry  him  well  enough  between  us  —  it 's  no  great 
distance." 

"  Easy !  "  said  the  Postilion,  backing  away  again,  "  easy, 
now  —  what  might  be  the  matter  with  him,  if  I  might  make 
so  bold  —  ain't  dead,  is  he  ?  " 

"Dead  —  no,  fool!"  I  rejoined  angrily. 

"Voice  like  his,  too!"  muttered  the  Postilion,  backing 
away  still  farther;  "  yes,  onnat'ral 's  the  word —  strike  me 
dumb  if  it  ain't !  " 

"  Come,  will  you  do  as  I  ask,  or  must  I  make  you.''  " 

"Why,  I  ain't  got  no  objection  to  taking  the  gent's 
'eels,  if  that 's  all  you  ask,  though  mind  ye,  if  ever  I  see 
such  damned  onnat'ralness  as  this  'ere  in  all  my  days,  why 
—  drownd  me !  " 

So,  after  some  delay,  I  found  the  overcoat  and  purse 
(which  latter  I  thrust  into  the  pocket  ere  wrapping  the 
garment  about  him),  and  lifting  my  still  unconscious  an- 
tagonist between  us,  we  started  for  the  lane ;  which  we 
eventually  reached,  with  no  little  labor  and  difficulty.  Here, 
more  by  good  fortune  than  anything  else,  we  presently 
stumbled  upon  a  chaise  and  horses,  drawn  up  in  the  gloom 
of  sheltering  trees,  in  which  we  deposited  our  limp  burden 
as  comfortably  as  might  be,  and  where  I  made  some  shift 
to  tie  up  the  gash  in  his  brow. 


2  34  The  Broad  Highway 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  thing,"  said  the  Postilion  moodily, 
as  I,  at  length,  closed  the  chaise  door,  "  it  would  be  a  nice 
thing  if  'e  was  to  go  a-dying." 

"  By  the  looks  of  him,"  said  I,  "  he  will  be  swearing 
your  head  oif  in  the  next  ten  minutes  or  so." 

Without  another  word  the  Postilion  set  the  lanthorn 
back  in  its  socket,  and  swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

"Your  best  course  would  be  to  make  for  Tonbridge, 
bearing  to  the  right  when  you  strike  the  high  road." 

The  Postilion  nodded,  and,  gathering  up  the  reins, 
turned  to  stare  at  me  once  more,  while  I  stood  in  the 
gleam  of  the  lanthorn. 

"Well.?"  I  inquired. 

"  Eyes,"  said  he,  rubbing  his  chin  very  hard,  as  one  at 
a  loss,  "eyes,  i-dentical — nose,  same  —  mouth,  when  not 
bloody,  same  —  'air,  same  —  everything,  same  —  Lord 
love  me ! " 

"  Pembry  would  be  nearer,"  said  I,  "  and  the  sooner  he 
is  between  the  sheets  the  better." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  the  Postilion  with  a  slow  nod,  and 
drawing  out  the  word  unduly,  "  and  talking  o'  sheets  and 
beds  —  what  about  my  second  passenger.?  I  started  wi' 
two,  and  'ere  's  only  one  —  what  about  Number  Two  — 
what  about  —  'er?  " 

"Her!"  I  repeated. 

"  'Er  as  was  with  'im  —  Number  One  —  'er  what  was 
a-quarrelling  wi'  Number  One  all  the  way  from  London  — 
'er  as  run  away  from  Number  One  into  the  wood,  yonder, 
what  about  Number  Two  —  'er.?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  —  I  had  forgotten  her !  " 

"  Forgotten?  "  repeated  the  Postilion,  "  Oh,  Lord,  yes !  " 
and  leaning  over,  he  winked  one  eye,  very  deliberately ; 
"  forgotten  'er —  ah !  —  to  be  sure  —  of  course !  "  and  he 
winked  again. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  demanded,  nettled  by  the 
fellow's  manner. 

*'Mean.?"  said  he,  "I  means  as  of  all  the  damned  on- 
nat'ralness  as  come  on  a  honest,  well-meaning,  civil-spoke 


The  Postilion  235 

cove  —  why,  I  'm  that  there  cove,  so  'elp  me !  "  Saying 
which,  he  cracked  his  whip,  the  horses  plunged  forward, 
and,  almost  immediately,  as  it  seemed,  horses,  chaise,  and 
Postilion  had  lurched  into  the  black  murk  of  the  night  and 
vanished. 


CHAPTER    III 

WHICH   B£A£S   AMPLE    TESTIMONY    TO    THE    STRENGTH    OF 
THE    gentleman's    FISTS 

CoNsiDEKiNG  all  that  had  befallen  during  the  last  half- 
hour  or  so,  it  was  not  very  surprising,  I  think,  that  I 
should  have  forgotten  the  very  existence  of  this  woman 
Charmian,  even  though  she  had  been  chiefly  instrumental 
in  bringing  it  all  about,  and  to  have  her  recalled  to  my 
recollection  thus  suddenly  (and,  moreover,  the  possibility 
that  I  must  meet  with  and  talk  to  her)  perturbed  me 
greatly,  and  I  remained,  for  some  time,  quite  oblivious  to 
wind  and  rain,  all  engrossed  by  the  thought  of  this  woman. 

"  A  dark,  fierce,  Amazonian  creature ! "  I  told  myself, 
who  had  (abhorrent  thought)  already  attempted  one  man's 
life  to-night;  furthermore,  a  tall  woman,  and  strong  (there- 
fore unmaidenly),  with  eyes  that  gleamed  wild  in  the 
shadow  of  her  hair.  And  yet  my  dismay  arose  not  so 
much  from  any  of  these  as  from  the  fact  that  she  was  a 
woman,  and,  consequently,  beyond  my  ken. 

Hitherto  I  had  regarded  the  sex  very  much  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  a  little  askance,  as  creatures  naturally  illogical, 
and  given  to  unreasoning  impulse ;  delicate,  ethereal  beings 
whose  lives  were  made  up  of  petty  trifles  and  vanities,  who 
were  sent  into  this  gross  world  to  be  admired,  petted,  oc- 
casionally worshipped,  and  frequently  married. 

Indeed,  my  education,  in  this  direction,  had  been  shock- 
ingly neglected  thus  far,  not  so  much  from  lack  of  inclina- 
tion (for  who  can  deny  the  fascination  of  the  Sex?)  as 
for  lack  of  time  and  opportunity ;    for  when,  as  a  young 


Strength  of  the  Gentleman's  Fists    237 

gentleman  of  means  and  great  expectations,  I  should  have 
been  writing  sonnets  to  the  eyebrow  of  some  "  ladye  fajre," 
or  surreptitiously  wooing  some  farmer's  daughter,  in  com- 
mon with  my  kind,  I  was  hearkening  to  the  plaint  of  some 
Greek  or  Roman  lover,  or  chuckling  over  old  Brantome. 

Thus,  women  were  to  me  practically  an  unknown  quan- 
tity, as  yet,  and  hence  it  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that 
I  now  started  out  for  the  cottage,  and  this  truly  Amazonian 
Charmian,  unless  she  had  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  she 
had  come  (which  I  found  myself  devoutly  hoping). 

As  I  went,  I  became  conscious  that  I  was  bleeding  copi- 
ously above  the  brow,  that  my  throat  was  much  swollen, 
and  that  the  thumb  of  my  right  hand  pained  exceedingly 
at  the  least  touch;  added  to  which  was  a  dizziness  of  the 
head,  and  a  general  soreness  of  body,  that  testified  to  the 
strength  of  my  opponent's  fists. 

On  I  stumbled,  my  head  bent  low  against  the  stinging 
rain,  and  with  uncertain,  clumsy  feet,  for  reaction  had 
come,  and  with  it  a  deadly  faintness.  Twigs  swung  out 
of  the  darkness  to  lash  at  and  catch  me  as  I  passed,  in- 
visible trees  creaked  and  groaned  above  and  around  me, 
and  once,  as  I  paused  to  make  more  certain  of  my  direc- 
tion, a  dim,  vague  mass  plunged  down  athwart  my  path 
with  a  rending  crash. 

On  I  went  (wearily  enough,  and  with  the  faintness  grow- 
ing upon  me,  a  sickness  that  would  not  be  fought  down), 
guiding  my  course  by  touch  rather  than  sight,  until,  find- 
ing myself  at  fault,  I  stopped  again,  staring  about  me 
beneath  my  hand.  Yet,  feeling  the  faintness  increase  with 
inaction,  I  started  forward,  groping  before  me  as  I  went ; 
I  had  gone  but  a  few  paces,  however,  when  I  tripped  over 
some  obstacle,  and  fell  heavily.  It  wanted  but  this  to 
complete  my  misery,  and  I  lay  where  I  was,  overcome  by 
a  deadly  nausea. 

Now  presently,  as  I  lay  thus,  spent  and  sick,  I  became 
aware  of  a  soft  glow,  a  brightness  that  seemingly  played 
all  around  me,  wherefore,  lifting  my  heavy  head,  I  beheld 
a  ray  of  light  that  pierced  the  gloom,  a  long,  gleaming 


238  The  Broad  Highway 

vista  jewelled  by  falling  raindrops,  whose  brilliance  was 
blurred,  now  and  then,  by  the  flitting  shapes  of  wind-tossed 
branches.  At  sight  of  this  my  strength  revived,  and  ris- 
ing, I  staggered  on  towards  this  welcome  light,  and  thus 
I  saw  that  it  streamed  from  the  window  of  my  cottage. 
Even  then,  it  seemed,  I  journeyed  miles  before  I  felt  the 
latch  beneath  my  fingers,  and  fmnbling,  opened  the  door, 
stumbled  in,  and  closed  it  after  me. 

For  a  space  I  stood  dazed  by  the  sudden  light,  and  then, 
little  by  little,  noticed  that  the  table  and  chairs  had  been 
righted,  that  the  fire  had  been  mended,  and  that  candles 
burned  brightly  upon  the  mantel.  All  this  I  saw  but  dimly, 
for  there  was  a  mist  before  my  eyes;  yet  I  was  conscious 
that  the  girl  had  leapt  up  on  my  entrance,  and  now  stood 
fronting  me  across  the  table. 

"  You !  "  said  she,  in  a  low,  repressed  voice  —  "  you.''  " 

Now,  as  she  spoke,  I  saw  the  glitter  of  steel  in  her  hand. 

"  Keep  back  !  "  she  said,  in  the  same  subdued  tone,  "  keep 
back  —  I  warn  you !  "  But  I  only  leaned  there  against 
the  door,  even  as  she  had  done;  indeed,  I  doubt  if  I  could 
have  moved  just  then,  had  I  tried.  And,  as  I  stood  thus, 
hanging  my  head,  and  not  answering  her,  she  stamped 
her  foot  suddenly,  and  laughed  a  short,  fierce  laugh. 

"  So  —  he  has  hurt  you?  "  she  cried ;  "  you  are  all  blood 
—  it  is  running  down  your  face  —  the  Country  Bumpkin 
has  hurt  you !  Oh,  I  am  glad !  glad !  glad !  "  and  she 
laughed  again.  "  I  might  have  run  away,"  she  went  on 
mockingly,  "  but  you  see  —  I  was  prepared  for  you,"  and 
she  held  up  the  knife,  "  prepared  for  you  —  and  now  — 
you  are  pale,  and  hurt,  and  faint  —  yes,  you  are  faint  — 
the  Country  Bumpkin  has  done  his  work  well.  I  shall  not 
need  this,  after  all  —  see !  "  And  she  flung  the  knife  upon 
the  table. 

"  Yes  —  it  is  better  —  there,"  said  I,  "  and  I  think  — 
madam  —  is  —  mistaken." 

"  Mistaken  ? "  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  catch  in  her 
voice,  "  what  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  I  —  am  —  the  Bumpkin  !  "  said  I. 


Strength  of  the  Gentleman's  Fists    239 

Now,  as  I  spoke,  a  black  mist  enveloped  all  things,  my 
knees  loosened  suddenly,  and  stumbling  forward,  I  sank 
into  a  chair. 

**  I  am  —  very  —  tired !  "  I  sighed,  and  so,  as  it  seemed, 
fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    IV 

WHICH,    AMONG    OTHER    MATTERS,    HAS    TO    DO    WITH 
BRUISES    AND    BANDAGES 

She  was  on  her  knees  beside  me,  bathing  my  battered  face, 
talking  all  the  while  in  a  soft  voice  that  I  thought  wonder- 
fully sweet  to  hear, 

"  Poor  boy !  "  she  was  saying,  over  and  over  again, 
"  poor  boy !  "  And  after  she  had  said  it,  perhaps  a  dozen 
times,  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Madam,  I  am  twenty-five !  "  said  I.  Hereupon,  sponge 
in  hand,  she  drew  back  and  looked  at  me. 

A  wonderful  face  —  low-browed,  deep-eyed,  full-lipped. 
The  eyes  were  dark  and  swiftly  changeful,  and  there  was 
a  subtle  witchery  in  the  slanting  shadow  of  their  lashes. 

"  Twenty-five!  "  she  repeated,  "  can  it  really  be.''  " 

"Why  not,  madam.?" 

"  So  very  young?  " 

"  Why  —  "I  began,  greatly  taken  aback.  "  Indeed, 
I  —  that  is  —  " 

But  here  she  laughed  and  then  she  sighed,  and  sighing, 
shook  her  head. 

"  Poor  boy !  "  said  she,  "  poor  boy !  "  And,  when  I 
would  have  retorted,  she  stopped  me  with  the  sponge. 

"  Your  mouth  is  cut,"  said  she,  after  a  while,  "  and 
there  is  a  great  gash  in  your  brow." 

"  But  the  water  feels  delicious !  "  said  I. 

"  And  your  throat  is  all  scratched  and  swollen !  " 

"  But  your  hands  are  very  gentle  and  soothing !  " 

"  I  don't  hurt  you,  then.?  " 


Bruises  and  Bandages  241 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  —  the  pain  is  very  trifling,  thank 
you." 

"  Yet  you  fainted  a  little  while  ago." 

"  Then  it  was  very  foolish  of  me." 

"  Poor  —  "  she  hesitated,  and  looking  up  at  her  through 
the  trickling  water,  I  saw  that  she  was  smiling. 

"  —  fellow !  "  said  she.  And  her  lips  were  very  sweet, 
and  her  eyes  very  soft  and  tender  —  for  an  Amazon. 

And,  when  she  had  washed  the  blood  from  my  face,  she 
went  to  fetch  clean  water  from  where  I  kept  it  in  a  bucket 
in  the  corner. 

Now,  at  my  elbow,  upon  the  table,  lay  the  knife,  a  heavy, 
clumsy  contrivance  I  had  bought  to  use  in  my  carpentry, 
and  I  now,  mechanically,  picked  it  up.  As  I  did  so  the 
light  gleamed  evilly  upon  its  long  blade. 

"  Put  it  down  !  "  she  commanded ;  "  put  it  away  —  it 
is  a  hateful  thing !  " 

"  For  a  woman's  hand,"  I  added,  "  so  hideously  un- 
feminine ! " 

"  Some  men  are  so  hatefully  —  hideously  —  mascu- 
line !  "  she  retorted,  her  lip  curling.  "  I  expected  —  him 
—  and  you  are  terribly  like  him." 

"  As  to  that,"  said  I,  "  I  may  have  the  same  colored 
eyes  and  hair,  and  be  something  of  the  same  build  —  " 

"  Yes,"  she  nodded,  "  it  was  your  build,  and  the  color 
of  your  eyes  and  hair  that  —  startled  me." 

"  But,  after  all,"  said  I,  "  the  similarity  is  only  skin- 
deep,  and  goes  no  farther." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  kneeling  beside  me  again ;  "  no, 
you  are  —  only  twenty-five !  "  And,  as  she  said  this,  her 
eyes  were  hidden  by  her  lashes. 

"  Twenty-five  is  —  twenty-five !  "  said  I,  more  sharply 
than  before.     "Why  do  you  smile?" 

"  The  water  is  all  dripping  from  your  nose  and  chin !  — 
stoop  lower  over  the  basin." 

"  And  yet,"  said  I,  as  well  as  I  could  on  account  of  the 
trickling  water,  for  she  was  bathing  my  face  again,  "  and 
yet,  you  must  be  years  younger  than  I." 


242  The  Broad  Highway 

"  But  then,  some  women  always  feel  older  than  a  man  — 
more  especially  if  he  is  hurt." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  "  thank  you ;  with  the  exception 
of  a  scratch,  or  so,  I  am  very  well ! "  But,  as  I  moved, 
I  caught  my  thumb  clumsily  against  the  table-edge,  and 
winced  with  the  sudden  pain  of  it. 

"  What  is  it  —  your  hand  ?  " 

"  My  thumb." 

"  Let  me  see  ?  "  Obediently  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to 
her. 

"Is  it  broken.?" 

"  Dislocated,  I  think." 

"  It  is  greatly  swollen !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  and  taking  firm  hold  of  it  with  my  left 
hand,  I  gave  it  a  sudden  puU  which  started  the  sweat  upon 
my  temples,  but  sent  it  back  into  joint. 

"  Poor  —  " 

"  Well.?  "  said  I,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  —  man !  "  said  she,  and  touched  the  swollen  hand  very 
tenderly  with  her  fingers. 

"  You  do  not  fear  me  any  longer.?  " 

"  No." 

**  In  spite  of  my  eyes  and  hair  ?  " 

"  In  spite  of  your  eyes  and  hair  —  you  see,  a  woman 
knows  instinctively  whom  she  must  fear  and  whom  not  to 
fear." 

"WeU?" 

"  And  you  are  one  I  do  not  fear,  and,  I  think,  never 
should." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I,  rubbing  my  chin,  "  I  am  only  twenty- 
five!" 

"  Twenty-five  is  —  twenty-five !  "  said  she  demurely. 

"  And  yet,  I  am  very  like  —  him  —  you  said  so  your- 
self!" 

"  Him !  "  she  exclaimed,  starting.  "  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  him.  Where  is  he  —  what  has  become  of  him  ?  '*  and 
she  glanced  apprehensively  towards  the  door. 

"  Half  way  to  Tonbridge  —  or  should  be  by  now." 


Bruises  and  Bandages  243 

"  Tonbridge !  "  said  she,  in  a  tone  of  amazement,  and 
turned  to  look  at  me  again. 

"  Tonbridge !  "  I  repeated. 

"  But  he  is  not  the  man  to  —  to  run  away,"  said  she 
doubtfully  —  "  even  from  you." 

"  No,  indeed !  "  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  he  certainly 
did  not  run  away,  but  circumstances  —  and  a  stone,  were 
too  much  —  even  for  him." 

"A  stone.?" 

"  Upon  which  he  —  happened  to  fall,  and  strike  his  head 
—  very  fortunately  for  me." 

"  Was  he  —  much  hurt  ?  " 

"  Stunned  only,"  I  answered. 

She  was  still  kneeling  beside  my  chair,  but  now  she  sat 
back,  and  turned  to  stare  into  the  fire.  And,  as  she  sat, 
I  noticed  how  full  and  round  and  white  her  arms  were, 
for  her  sleeves  were  rolled  high,  and  that  the  hand,  which 
yet  held  the  sponge,  was  likewise  very  white,  neither  big 
nor  little,  a  trifle  wide,  perhaps,  but  with  long,  slender 
fingers.  Presently,  with  a  sudden  gesture,  she  raised  her 
head  and  looked  at  me  again  —  a  long,  searching  look. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  My  name,"  said  I,  "  is  Peter." 

"  Yes,"  she  nodded,  with  her  eyes  still  on  mine. 

"  Peter  —  Smith,"  I  went  on,  "  and,  by  that  same  token, 
I  am  a  blacksmith  —  very  humbly  at  your  service." 

"  Peter  —  Smith !  "  she  repeated,  as  though  trying  the 
sound  of  it,  hesitating  at  the  surname  exactly  as  I  had 
done.  "Peter  —  Smith!  —  and  mine  is  Charmian,  Char- 
mian  —  Brown."  And  here  again  was  a  pause  between  the 
two  names. 

"  Yours  is  a  very  beautiful  name,"  said  I,  "  especially 
the  Charmian !  " 

"  And  yours,"  she  retorted,  "  is  a  beautifully  —  ugly 
one !  " 

"Yes.?" 

"  Especially  the  —  Peter !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  I,  rising,  "  and 


2  44  T^^  Broad  Highway 

now,  if  I  may  trouble  you  for  the  towel  —  thank  you !  " 
Forthwith  I  began  to  dry  my  face  as  well  as  I  might  on 
account  of  my  injured  thumb,  while  she  watched  me  with 
a  certain  elusive  merriment  peeping  from  her  eyes,  and 
quivering  at  me  round  her  lips,  an  expression  half  mock- 
ing, half  amused,  that  I  had  seen  there  more  than  once 
already.  Wherefore,  to  hide  from  her  my  consciousness 
of  this,  I  fell  to  towelling  myself  vigorously,  so  much  so, 
that,  forgetting'  the  cut  in  my  brow,  I  set  it  bleeding 
faster  than  ever. 

"  Oh,  you  are  very  clumsy ! "  she  cried,  springing  up,  and, 
snatching  the  towel  from  me,  she  began  to  stanch  the  blood 
with  it.    "  If  you  will  sit  down,  I  will  bind  it  up  for  you.'* 

"  Really,  it  is  quite  unnecessary,"  I  demurred. 

"  Quite !  "  said  she ;  "  is  there  anything  will  serve  as  a 
bandage.''  " 

"  There  is  the  towel !  "  I  suggested. 

"  Not  to  be  thought  of !  " 

*'  Then  you  might  tear  a  strip  off  the  sheet,"  said  I, 
nodding  towards  the  bed. 

"  Ridiculous !  "  said  she,  and  proceeded  to  draw  a  hand- 
kerchief from  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  having  folded  it 
with  great  nicety  and  moistened  it  in  the  bowl,  she  tied 
it  about  my  temples. 

Now,  to  do  this,  she  had,  perforce,  to  pass  her  arms 
about  my  neck,  and  this  brought  her  so  near  that  I  could 
feel  her  breath  upon  my  lips,  and  there  stole  to  me,  out 
of  her  hair,  or  out  of  her  bosom,  a  perfume  very  sweet, 
that  was  like  the  fragrance  of  violets  at  evening.  But  her 
hands  were  all  too  dexterous,  and,  quicker  than  it  takes 
to  write,  the  bandage  was  tied,  and  she  was  standing 
before  me,  straight  and  tall. 

"  There  —  that  is  more  comfortable,  is  n*t  it?  "  she  in- 
quired, and  with  the  words  she  bestowed  a  final  little  pat 
to  the  bandage,  a  touch  so  light  —  so  ineffably  gentle  — 
that  it  might  almost  have  been  the  hand  of  that  long-dead 
mother  whom  I  had  never  known.  "  That  is  better,  is  n't 
it  ?  "  she  demanded. 


Bruises  and  Bandages         24.5 

"  Thank  you  —  yes,  very  comfortable !  "  said  I.  But, 
as  the  word  left  me,  my  glance,  by  accident,  encountered 
the  pistol  near  by,  and  at  sight  of  it  a  sudden  anger  came 
upon  me,  for  I  remembered  that,  but  for  my  intervention, 
this  girl  was  a  murderess ;  wherefore,  I  would  fain  have 
destroyed  the  vile  thing,  and  reached  for  it  impulsively, 
but  she  was  before  me,  and  snatching  up  the  weapon,  hid 
it  behind  her  as  she  had  done  once  before. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  I,  frowning,  "  it  is  an  accursed 
thing!" 

"  Yet  it  has  been  my  friend  to-night,"  she  answered. 

"  Give  it  to  me !  "  I  repeated.  She  threw  up  her  head, 
and  regarded  me  with  a  disdainful  air,  for  ray  tone  had 
been  imperative. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  and  held  out  my  hand.  So,  for  a 
while,  we  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  then,  all  at  once, 
she  dropped  the  weapon  on  the  table  before  me  and  turned 
her  back  to  me. 

"  I  think  —  "  she  began,  speaking  with  her  back  still 
turned  to  me. 

"Well.?  "said  I. 

"  —  that  you  have  —  " 

"Yes.?"  said  I. 

"  —  very  unpleasant  —  eyes  !  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that,"  said  I,  dropping  the 
weapon  out  of  sight  behind  my  row  of  books,  having  done 
which,  I  drew  both  chairs  nearer  the  fire,  and  invited  her 
to  sit  down. 

"  Thank  you,  I  prefer  to  stand,"  said  she  loftily. 

"  As  you  will,"  I  answered,  but,  even  while  I  spoke,  she 
seemed  to  change  her  mind,  for  she  sank  into  the  nearest 
chair,  and,  chin  in  hand,  stared  into  the  fire. 

"  And  so,"  said  she,  as  I  sat  down  opposite  her,  "  and 
so  your  name  is  Peter  Smith,  and  you  are  a  blacksmith  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  blacksmith." 

"  And  make  horseshoes  ?  " 

"  Naturally,  yes." 

"  And  do  you  live  here.?  " 


246  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Yes." 

"Alone?" 

"  Quite  alone !  " 

"  And  how  long  have  you  lived  here  alone?  " 

"  Not  so  long  that  I  am  tired  of  it." 

"  And  is  this  cottage  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  that  is,  it  stands  on  the  Sefton  estates,  I  be- 
lieve, but  nobody  hereabouts  would  seem  anxious  to  dis- 
pute my  right  of  occupying  the  place." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  is  generally  supposed  to  be  haunted." 

"  Oh !  " 

"  It  was  built  by  some  wanderer  of  the  roads,"  I  ex- 
plained, "  a  stranger  to  these  parts,  who  lived  alone  here, 
and  eventually  died  alone  here." 

"Died  here?" 

"  Hanged  himself  on  the  staple  above  the  door,  yonder." 

"  Oh !  "  said  she  again,  and  cast  a  fearful  glance  towards 
the  deep-driven,  rusty  staple. 

"  The  country  folk  believe  his  spirit  still  haunts  the 
place,"  I  went  on,  "  and  seldom,  or  never,  venture  foot 
within  the  Hollow." 

"  And  are  you  not  afraid  of  this  ghost?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

**  It  must  be  very  lonely  here.*' 

"Delightfully  so." 

"  Are  you  so  fond  of  solitude?  " 

"  Yes,  for  solitude  is  thought,  and  to  think  is  to  live." 

"And  what  did  you  do  with  the  —  pistol?" 

"  I  dropped  it  out  of  sight  behind  my  books  yonder." 

"  I  wonder  why  I  gave  it  to  you." 

"  Because,  if  you  remember,  I  asked  you  for  it." 

"  But  I  usually  dislike  doing  what  I  am  asked,  and  your 
manner  was  —  scarcely  courteous." 

"  You  also  objected  to  my  eyes,  I  think?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  nodded. 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

The    dark    night,    outside,    was    filled    with    malignant 


Bruises  and  Bandages         247 

demons  now,  who  tore  at  the  rattling  casements,  who 
roared  and  bellowed  down  the  chimney,  or  screamed  furi- 
ously round  the  cottage;  but  here,  in  the  warm  firelight, 
I  heeded  them  not  at  all,  watching,  rather,  this  woman, 
where  she  sat,  leaned  forward,  gazing  deep  into  the  glow. 
And  where  the  light  touched  her  hair  it  woke  strange  fires, 
red  and  bronze.  And  it  was  very  rebellious  hair,  with  little 
tendrils  that  gleamed,  here  and  there,  against  her  temples, 
and  small,  defiant  curls  that  seemed  to  strive  to  hide  be- 
hind her  ear,  or,  bold  and  wanton,  to  kiss  her  snowy  neck 
—  out  of  sheer  bravado. 

As  to  her  dress,  T,  little  by  little,  became  aware  of  two 
facts,  for  whereas  her  gown  was  of  a  rough,  coarse  mate- 
rial such  as  domestic  servants  wear,  the  stockinged  foot 
that  peeped  at  me  beneath  its  hem  (her  shoes  were  drying 
on  the  hearth)  was  clad  in  a  silk  so  fine  that  I  could  catch, 
through  it,  the  gleam  of  the  white  flesh  beneath.  From 
this  apparent  inconsistency  I  deduced  that  she  was  of  edu- 
cated tastes,  but  poor  —  probably  a  governess,  or,  more 
likely  still,  taking  her  hands  into  consideration,  with  their 
long,  prehensile  fingers,  a  teacher  of  music,  and  was  going 
on  to  explain  to  myself  her  present  situation  as  the 
outcome  of  Beauty,  Poverty,  and  the  Devil,  when  she 
sighed,  glanced  toward  the  door,  shivered  slightly,  and 
reaching  her  shoes  from  the  hearth  prepared  to  slip 
them  on. 

"  They  are  still  very  wet !  "  said  I  deprecatingly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Listen  to  the  wind !  "  said  I. 

"  It  is  terribly  high." 

"  And  it  rains  very  hard !  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  and  she  shivered  again. 

*'  It  will  be  bad  travelling  for  any  one  to-night,"  said  I. 

Charmian  stared  into  the  fire. 

*'  Indeed,  it  would  be  madness  for  the  strongest  to  stir 
abroad  on  such  a  night." 

Charmian  stared  into  the  fire. 

"  What  with  the  wind  and  the  rain  the  roads  would  be 


248  The  Broad  Highway 

utterly  impassable,  not  to  mention  the  risks  of  falling 
trees  or  shattered  boughs." 

Charmian  shivered  again. 

"  And  the  inns  are  all  shut,  long  ago ;  to  stir  out,  there- 
fore, would  be  the  purest  folly." 

Charmian  stared  into  the  fire. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  here  are  a  warm  room,  a  good  fire, 
and  a  very  excellent  bed." 

She  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  only  her  eyes  were  raised 
suddenly  and  swiftly  to  mine. 

"  Also,"  I  continued,  returning  her  look,  "  here,  most 
convenient  to  your  hand,  is  a  fine  sharp  knife,  in  case  you 
are  afraid  of  the  ghost  or  any  other  midnight  visitant  — 
and  so  —  good  night,  madam !  "  Saying  which,  I  took  up 
one  of  the  candles  and  crossed  to  the  door  of  that  room 
which  had  once  been  Donald's,  but  here  I  paused  to 
glance  back  at  her.  "  Furthermore,"  said  I,  snuffing  my 
candle  with  great  nicety,  "  madam  need  have  no  further 
qualms  regarding  the  color  of  my  hair  and  eyes  —  none 
whatever." 

Whereupon  I  bowed  somewhat  stiffly  on  account  of  my 
bruises,  and,  going  into  my  chamber,  closed  the  door 
behind  me. 

Having  made  the  bed  (for  since  Donald's  departure  I 
had  occupied  my  two  beds  alternately)  I  undressed  slowly, 
for  my  thumb  was  very  painful;  also  I  paused  frequently 
to  catch  the  sound  of  the  light,  quick  footstep  beyond  the 
door,  and  the  whisper  of  her  garments  as  she  walked. 

"  Charmian !  "  said  I  to  myself  when  at  length  all  was 
still,  "  Charmian !  "    And  I  blew  out  my  candle. 

Outside,  the  souls  of  the  unnumbered  dead  still  rode  the 
storm,  and  the  world  was  filled  with  their  woeful  lamenta- 
tion. But,  as  I  lay  in  the  dark,  there  came  to  me  a  faint 
perfume  as  of  violets  at  evening-time,  elusive  and  very 
sweet,  breathing  of  Charmian  herself;  and  putting  up  my 
hand,  I  touched  the  handkerchief  that  bound  my  brow. 

"  Charmian !  "  said  I  to  myself  again,  and  so,  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    V 

IN    WHICH    I    HEAR    ILL    NEWS    OF    GEORGE 

The  sun  was  pouring  in  at  my  lattice  when  I  awoke  next 
morning  to  a  general  soreness  of  body  that  at  first  puzzled 
me  to  account  for.  But  as  I  lay  in  that  delicious  state 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  I  became  aware  of  a  faint, 
sweet  perfume;  and,  turning  my  head,  espied  a  handker- 
chief upon  the  pillow  beside  me.  And  immediately  I  came 
to  my  elbow,  with  my  eyes  directed  to  the  door,  for  now 
indeed  I  remembered  all,  and  beyond  that  door,  sleeping 
or  waking,  lay  a  woman. 

In  the  early  morning  things  are  apt  to  lose  something 
of  the  glamour  that  was  theirs  over  night ;  thus  I  remained 
propped  upon  my  elbow,  gazing  apprehensively  at  the 
door,  and  with  my  ears  on  the  stretch,  hearkening  for  any 
movement  from  the  room  beyond  that  should  tell  me  she 
was  up.  But  I  heard  only  the  early  chorus  of  the  birds 
and  the  gurgle  of  the  brook,  swollen  with  last  night's  rain. 
In  a  while  I  i*ose  and  began  to  dress  somewhat  awkwardly,  on 
account  of  my  thumb,  yet  with  rather  more  than  my  usual 
care,  stopping  occasionally  to  hear  if  she  was  yet  astir. 
Being  at  last  fully  dressed,  I  sat  down  to  wait  until  I  should 
hear  her  footstep.  But  I  listened  vainly,  for  minute  after 
minute  elapsed  until,  rising  at  length,  I  knocked  softly. 
And  having  knocked  thrice,  each  time  louder  than  before, 
without  effect,  I  lifted  the  latch  and  opened  the  door. 

My  first  glance  showed  me  that  the  bed  had  never  even 
been  slept  in,  and  that  save  for  myself  the  place  was 
empty.  And  yet  the  breakfast-table  had  been  neatly  set, 
though  with  but  one  cup  and  saucer. 


250  The  Broad  Highway 

Now,  beside  this  cup  and  saucer  was  one  of  my  few 
books,  and  picking  it  up,  I  saw  that  it  was  my  Virgil. 
Upon  the  fly-leaf,  at  which  it  was  open,  I  had,  years  ago, 
scrawled  my  name  thus : 

Peter  Vibart 

But  lo!  close  under  this,  written  in  a  fine  Italian  hand, 
Avere  the  following  words: 

"To  Peter  Smith,  Esq.  [the  "Smith"  underlined!  Blacksmith. 
Charmian  Brown  ["  Brown  "  likewise  underlined]  desires 
to  thank  Mr.  Smith,  yet  because  thanks  are  so  poor  and 
small,  and  his  service  so  great,  needs  must  she  remem- 
ber him  as  a  gentleman,  yet  oftener  as  a  blacksmith, 
and  most  of  all,  as  a  man.  Charmian  Brown  begs  him 
to  accept  this  little  trinket  in  memory  of  her;  it  is  all  she 
has  to  offer  him.     He  may  also  keep  her  handkerchief." 

Upon  the  table,  on  the  very  spot  where  the  book  had 
lain,  was  a  gold  heart-shaped  locket,  very  quaint  and  old- 
fashioned,  upon  one  side  of  which  was  engraved  the  follow- 
ing posy : 

"  Hee  who  myne  heart  would  keepe  for  long 
Shall  be  a  gentil  man  and  strong." 

Attached  to  the  locket  was  a  narrow  blue  riband,  where- 
fore, passing  this  riband  over  my  head,  I  hung  the  locket 
about  my  neck.  And  having  read  through  the  message 
once  more,  I  closed  the  Virgil,  and,  replacing  it  on  the 
shelf,  set  about  brewing  a  cup  of  tea,  and  so  presently  sat 
down  to  breakfast. 

I  had  scarcely  done  so,  however,  when  there  came  a 
timid  knock  at  the  door,  whereat  I  rose  expectantly,  and 
immediately  sat  down  again. 

"  Come  in !  "  said  I.  The  latch  was  slowly  raised,  the 
door  swung  open,  and  the  Ancient  appeared.  If  I  was 
surprised  to  see  him  at  such  an  hour,  he  was  even  more  so, 
for,  at  sight  of  me,  his  mouth  opened,  and  he  stood  staring 
speechlessly,  leaning  upon  his  stick. 

"  Why,  Ancient,"  said  I,  "  you  are  early  abroad  this 
morning !  " 


I  Hear  111  News  of  George      251 

"  Lord !  "  he  exclaimed,  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

"  Come  in  and  sit  down,"  said  I. 

"  Lord !  Lord !  "  he  murmured,  "  an'  a-eatin'  'is  break- 
fus'  tu.     Lordy,  Lord !  " 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded,  "  and,  such  as  it  is,  you  are  heartily 
welcome  to  share  it  —  sit  down,"  and  I  drew  up  my  other 
chair. 

"  A-eatin'  'is  breakfus'  as  ever  was !  "  repeated  the  old 
man,  without  moving. 

"  And  why  not,  Ancient.'*  " 

"  Why  not.f*  "  he  repeated  disdainfully.  "  'Cause  break- 
fus' can't  be  ate  by  a  corp',  can  it .''  " 

"  A  corpse.  Ancient ;    what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  means  as  a  corp'  are  n't  got  no  right  to  eat  a  break- 
fus' —  no !  " 

"  Why,  I  —  no,  certainly  not." 

"  Consequently,  you  are  n't  a  corp*,  you  '11  be  tellin' 
me." 

"I.?  —  no,  not  yet,  God  be  thanked!  " 

"  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head,  and  mop- 
ping his  brow  with  a  corner  of  his  neckerchief,  "  you  du 
be  forever  a-givin'  of  me  turns,  that  ye  du." 

"Do  I,  Ancient.?" 

"  Ay  —  that  ye  du,  an'  me  such  a  aged  man  tu  —  such 
a  very  aged  man.  I  wonders  at  ye,  Peter,  an'  me  wi'  my 
white  'airs  —  oh,  I  wonders  at  ye !  "  said  he,  sinking  into 
the  chair  I  had  placed  for  him  and  regarding  me  with  a 
stern,  reproving  eye. 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  I  have  been  guilty  of  —  "  I 
began. 

"  I  come  down  'ere,  Peter  —  so  early  as  it  be,  tu  —  I 
come  down  'ere  to  look  for  your  corp',  arter  the  storm  an' 
what  'appened  last  night.  I  comes  down  'ere,  and  what 
does  I  find.'*  —  I  finds  ye  a-eatin'  your  breakfus'  —  just 
as  if  theer  never  'ad  n't  been  no  storm  at  all  —  no,  nor 
nothin'  else." 

"  I  'm  sure,"  said  I,  pouring  out  a  second  cup  of  tea, 
"  I  'm  sure  I  would  sooner  you  should  find  my  corpse  than 


252  The  Broad  Highway 

any  one  else,  and  am  sorry  to  have  disappointed  you 
again,  but  really.  Ancient  —  " 

"  Oh,  it  are  n't  the  disappointment,  Peter  —  I  found  one 
corp',  an'  that 's  enough,  I  suppose,  for  an  aged  man  like 
me  —  no,  it  are  n't  that  —  it 's  findin'  ye  eatin'  your 
breakfus'  —  just  as  if  theer  'ad  n't  been  no  storm  —  no, 
nor  yet  no  devil,  wi'  'orns  an'  a  tail,  a-runnin'  up  an'  down 
in  the  'Oiler  'ere,  an'  a-roarin'  an'  a-bellerin',  as  John 
Pringle  said,  last  night." 

*'  Ah !  and  what  else  did  John  Pringle  say  ?  "  I  In- 
quired, setting  down  my  cup. 

"  Why,  'e  come  into  '  The  Bull '  all  wet  an'  wild-like,  an' 
wi'  'is  two  eyes  a-stickin'  out  like  gooseberries !  'E 
comes  a-bustin'  into  the  '  tap  '  —  an'  never  says  a  word 
till  'e  's  emptied  Old  Amos's  tankard  —  that  bein'  nighest. 
Then  — '  By  Goles ! '  says  'e,  lookin'  round  on  us  all,  '  by 
Goles!  I  jest  seen  the  ghost!'  'Ghost!'  says  all  on  us, 
sittin'  up,  ye  may  be  sure,  Peter.  '  Ay,'  says  John,  lookin' 
over  'is  shoulder,  scared-like,  *  seed  un  wi'  my  two  eyes, 
I  did,  an'  what 's  more,  I  heerd  un  tu ! '  *  Wheer  ?  '  says 
all  on  us,  beginnin'  to  look  over  our  shoulders  likewise. 
*  Wheer.?  '  says  John,  *  wheer  should  I  see  un  but  in  that 
theer  ghashly  'Oiler.  I  see  a  light,  fust  of  all,  a-leapin' 
an'  a-dancin'  about  'mong  the  trees  —  ah !  an'  I  'eerd 
shouts  as  was  enough  to  curdle  a  man's  good  blood.' 
'  Pooh !  what 's  lights  ?  '  says  Joel  Amos,  cockin'  'is  eye 
into  'is  empty  tankard ;  '  that  bean't  much  to  frighten 
a  man,  no,  nor  shouts  neither.'  *  Are  n't  it.'' '  says  John 
Pringle,  fierce-like ;  *  what  if  I  tell  ye  the  place  be  full  o' 
flamin'  fire  —  what  if  I  tell  ye  I  see  the  devil  'isself ,  all 
smoke,  an'  sparks,  an'  brimston'  a-floatin'  an'  a-flyin',  an' 
draggin'  a  body  through  the  tops  o'  the  trees  ?  '  '  Lord ! ' 
says  everybody,  an'  well  they  might,  Peter,  an'  nobody 
says  nothin'  for  a  while.  *  I  wonder,'  says  Joel  Amos  at 
last,  *  I  wonder  who  'e  was  a-draggin'  through  the  tops 
o'  the  trees  —  an'  why  ?  '  '  That  '11  be  poor  Peter  bein' 
took  away,'  says  I,  '  I  '11  go  an'  find  the  poor  lad's  corp' 
in  the  momin' '  —  an'  'ere  I  be." 


I  Hear  111  News  of  George      253 

**  And  you  find  me  not  dead,  after  all  your  trouble," 
said  I. 

"  If,"  said  the  Ancient,  sighing,  "  if  your  arms  was 
broke,  or  your  legs  was  broke,  now  —  or  if  your  'air  was 
singed,  or  your  face  all  burned  an'  blackened  wi'  sulphur, 
I  could  ha'  took  it  kinder;  but  to  find  ye  a-sittin'  eatin' 
an'  drinkin'  —  it  are  n't  what  I  expected  of  ye,  Peter, 
no."  Shaking  his  head  moodily,  he  took  from  his  hat  his 
never-failing  snuff-box,  but,  having  extracted  a  pinch, 
paused  suddenly  in  the  act  of  inhaling  it,  to  stare  at  me 
very  hard.  "  But,"  said  he,  in  a  more  hopeful  tone,  "  but 
your  face  be  all  bruised  an'  swole  up,  to  be  sure,  Peter." 

"  Is  it.  Ancient.?  " 

"  Ah !  that  it  be  —  that  it  be,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  bright- 
ening, "  an'  your  thumb  all  bandaged  tu." 

"  Why,  so  it  is.  Ancient." 

"  An'  —  Peter  —  !  "  The  pinch  of  snuff  fell,  and  made 
a  little  brown  cloud  on  the  snow  of  his  smock-frock  as  he 
rose,  trembling,  and  leaned  towards  me,  across  the  table. 

"Well,  Ancient?" 

"  Your  throat  — !  " 

"Yes  — what  of  it.?" 

"  It  —  be  all  marked  —  scratched  it  be  —  tore,  as  if 
■ — as  if  —  claws  'ad  been  at  it,  Peter,  long  —  sharp  — 
claws !  " 

"Is  it.  Ancient.?" 

"  Peter  —  oh,  Peter !  "  said  he,  with  a  sudden  quaver  in 
his  voice,  "  who  was  it  —  what  was  it,  Peter  ?  "  and  he 
laid  a  beseeching  hand  upon  mine.  "  Peter !  "  His  voice 
had  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  the  hand  plucked  trem- 
ulously at  my  sleeve,  while  in  the  wrinkled  old  face  was  a 
look  of  pitiful  entreaty.  "  Oh,  Peter !  oh,  lad !  't  were  Old 
Nick  as  done  it  —  't  were  the  devil  as  done  it,  were  n't  it  —  ? 
oh !  say  't  were  the  devil,  Peter."  And,  seeing  that  hoary 
head  all  a-twitch  with  eagerness  as  he  waited  my  answer, 
how  could  I  do  other  than  nod.? 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  devil,  Ancient."  The  old  man  subsided 
into  his  chair,  embracing  himself  exultantly. 


2  54  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  knowed  it !  I  knowed  it !  "  he  quavered.  "  *  'T  were 
the  devil  flyin'  off  wi'  Peter,'  says  I,  an'  they  fules  laughed 
at  me,  Peter,  ay,  laughed  at  me  they  did,  but  they  won't 
laugh  at  the  old  man  no  more  —  not  they ;  old  I  be,  but 
they  won't  laugh  at  me  no  more,  not  when  they  see  your 
face  an'  I  tell  'em."  Here  he  paused  to  fumble  for  his 
snuff-box,  and,  opening  it,  held  it  towards  me. 

"  Tak'  a  pinch  wi'  me,  Peter." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Ancient." 

"  Come,  't  would  be  a  wonnerful  thing  to  tell  as  I  'd 
took  snuff  out  o'  my  very  own  box  wi'  a  man  as  'ad  fou't 
wi'  the  devil  —  come  —  tak'  a  pinch,  Peter,"  he  pleaded. 
Whereupon,  to  please  him,  I  did  so,  and  immediately  fell 
most  violently  a-sneezing. 

"  And,"  pursued  the  old  man  when  the  paroxysm  was 
over,  "  did  ye  see  'is  'orns,  Peter,  an'  'is  —  " 

"  Why,  no.  Ancient ;  you  see,  he  happened  to  be  wear- 
ing a  bell-crowned  hat  and  a  long  coat." 

"  A  'at  an'  coat !  "  said  the  old  man  in  a  disappointed 
tone  — "a  'at,  Peter.?" 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"  To  be  sure,  the  Scripters  say  as  'e  goeth  up  an'  down 
like  a  ravening  lion  seekin'  whom  'e  may  devour." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  more  often,  I  think,  like  a  fine 
gentleman !  " 

"  I  never  heerd  tell  o'  the  devil  in  a  bell-crowned  'at 
afore,  but  p'r'aps  you  'm  right,  Peter  —  tak'  another  pinch 
o'  snuff." 

"  No  more,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"  Why,  it 's  apt  to  ketch  you  a  bit  at  first,  but,  Lord ! 
Peter,  for  a  man  as  'as  fou't  wi'  the  devil  —  " 

"  One  pinch  is  more  than  enough,  Ancient." 

"  Oh,  Peter,  't  is  a  wonnerful  thing  as  you  should  be 
alive  this  day !  " 

"  And  yet.  Ancient,  many  a  man  has  fought  the  devil 
before  now  and  lived  —  nay,  has  been  the  better  for  it." 

"  Maybe,  Peter,  maybe,  but  not  on  sech  a  tur'ble  wild 
night  as  last  night  was."     Saying  which,  the   old  man 


1  Hear  111  News  of  George     255 

nodded  emphatically  and,  rising,  hobbled  to  the  door;  yet 
there  he  turned  and  came  back  again.  "  I  nigh  forgot, 
Peter,  I  have  noos  for  ye." 

"News.?" 

"  Noos  as  ever  was  —  noos  as  '11  surprise  ye,  Peter." 

"Well?  "I  inquired. 

"  Well,  Peter,  Black  Jarge  be  '  took '  again." 

"What.?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh !  I  knowed  't  would  come  —  I  knowed  'e  could  n't 
last  much  longer.  I  says  to  Simon,  day  afore  yesterday  it 
were,  '  Simon,'  I  says,  *  mark  my  words,  'e  '11  never  last 
the  month  out  —  no.'  " 

"  How  did  it  happen,  Ancient?  " 

"  Got  tur'ble  drunk,  'e  did,  over  to  Cranbrook  — 
throwed  Mr.  Scrope,  the  Beadle,  over  the  churchyard  wall 
—  knocked  down  Jeremy  Tullinger,  the  Watchman,  an' 
then  —  went  to  sleep.  While  'e  were  asleep  they  managed, 
cautious-like,  to  tie  'is  legs  an'  arms,  an'  locked  'im  up, 
mighty  secure,  in  the  vestry.  'Ows'ever,  when  'e  woke  up 
'e  broke  the  door  open,  an'  walked  out,  an'  nobody  tried 
to  stop  'im  —  not  a  soul,  Peter." 

"  And  when  was  all  this  ?  " 

"  Why,  that 's  the  very  p'int,"  chuckled  the  Ancient, 
"  that 's  the  wonnerful  part  of  it,  Peter.  It  all  'appened 
on  Sat'day  night,  day  afore  yesterday  as  ever  was  —  the 
very  same  day  as  I  says  to  Simon,  *  mark  my  words,  'e 
won't  last  the  month  out.'  " 

"  And  where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,  but  theer  's  them  as  says  they  see  'im 
makin'  for  Sefton  Woods."  Hereupon,  breakfast  done,  I 
rose,  and  took  my  hat. 

"  Wheer  away,  Peter?  " 

"  To  the  forge ;  there  is  much  work  to  be  done,  Ancient." 

"  But  Jarge  bean't  theer  to  'elp  ye." 

"  Yet  the  work  remains,  Ancient." 

"  Why  then,  if  you  'm  goin',  I  '11  go  wi'  ye,  Peter."  So 
we  presently  set  out  together. 

All  about  us,  as  we  walked,  were  mute  evidences  of  the 


256  The  Broad  Highway 

fury  of  last  night's  storm:  trees  had  been  uprooted,  and 
great  branches  torn  from  others  as  if  by  the  hands  of 
angry  giants ;  and  the  brook  was  a  raging  torrent.  Down 
here,  in  the  Hollow,  the  destruction  had  been  less,  but  in 
the  woods,  above,  the  giants  had  worked  their  will,  and 
many  an  empty  gap  showed  where,  erstwhile,  had  stood  a 
tall  and  stately  tree. 

"  Trees  be  very  like  men,"  said  the  Ancient,  nodding  to 
one  that  lay  prone  beside  the  path,  "  'ere  to-day  an'  gone 
to-morrer,  Peter  —  gone  to-morrer.  The  man  in  the  Bible, 
'im  as  was  cured  of  'is  blindness  by  our  blessed  Lord,  'e 
said  as  men  was  like  trees  walkin',  but,  to  my  mind,  Peter, 
trees  is  much  more  like  men  a-standin'  still.  Ye  see,  Peter, 
trees  be  such  companionable  things ;  it 's  very  seldom  as 
you  see  a  tree  growin'  all  by  itself,  an'  when  you  do,  if  you 
look  at  it  you  can't  'elp  but  notice  'ow  lonely  it  do  look  — 
why,  its  very  leaves  seem  to  'ave  a  down-'earted  sort  o' 
droop.  I  knowed  three  on  'em  once  —  elm-trees  they  was 
—  growin'  all  close  together,  so  close  that  their  branches 
used  to  touch  each  other  when  the  wind  blew,  jest  as  if  they 
was  a-shakin'  'ands  wi'  one  another,  Peter.  You  could  see 
as  they  was  uncommon  fond  of  each  other,  wi'  half  an  eye. 
Well,  one  day,  along  comes  a  storm  and  blows  one  on  'em 
down  —  kills  it  dead,  Peter ;  an'  a  little  while  later,  they 
cuts  down  another  —  Lord  knows  why  —  an'  theer  was 
the  last  one,  all  alone  an'  solitary.  Now,  I  used  to  watch 
that  theer  tree  —  an'  here  's  the  cur'us  thing,  Peter  —  day 
by  day  I  see  that  tree  a-droopin'  an'  droopin',  a-witherin' 
an'  a-pinin'  for  them  other  two  —  brothers  you  might 
say  —  till  one  day  I  come  by,  an'  theer  it  were,  Peter, 
a-standin'  up  so  big  an'  tall  as  ever  —  but  dead!  Ay, 
Peter,  dead  it  were,  an'  never  put  forth  another  leaf,  an' 
never  will,  Peter  —  never.  An',  if  you  was  to  ax  me,  I 
should  say  as  it  died  because  its  'eart  were  broke,  Peter. 
Yes,  trees  is  very  like  men,  an'  the  older  you  grow  the  more 
you  '11  see  it." 

It  was  thus  we  talked,  or  rather,  the  Ancient  talked  and 
I  listened,  until  we  reached  Sissinghurst  At  the  door  of 
the  smithy  we  stopped. 


I  Hear  111  News  of  George     257 

"  Peter,"  said  the  old  man,  staring  very  hard  at  a  button 
on  my  coat. 

"Well,  Ancient?" 

"  What  about  that  theer  —  poor,  old,  rusty  —  stapil?  " 

"  Why,  it  is  still  above  the  door.  Ancient ;  you  must 
have  seen  it  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  ah !  I  seed  it,  Peter,  I  seed  it,"  answered  the  old 
man,  shifting  his  gaze  to  a  rolling  white  cloud  above.  "  I 
give  it  a  glimp'  over,  Peter,  but  what  do  'ee  think  of  it?  " 

"  Well,"  said  I,  aware  of  the  fixity  of  his  gaze  and  the 
wistful  note  in  his  voice,  "  it  is  certainly  older  and  rustier 
than  it  was." 

"  Rustier,  Peter?  " 

"  Much  rustier !  "  Very  slowly  a  smile  dawned  on  the 
wrinkled  old  face,  and  very  slowly  the  eyes  were  lowered 
till  they  met  mine. 

"  Eh,  lad !  but  I  be  glad  o'  that  —  we  be  all  growin' 
older,  Peter,  an'  —  though  I  be  a  wonnerful  man  for  my 
age,  an'  so  strong  as  a  cart-'orse,  Peter,  still,  I  du  some- 
times feel  like  I  be  growin'  rustier  wi'  length  o'  days,  an' 
't  is  a  comfort  to  know  as  that  theer  stapil 's  a-growin' 
rustier  along  wi'  me.  Old  I  be,  but  t'  stapil 's  old  too, 
Peter,  an'  I  be  waitin'  for  the  daj'^  when  it  shall  rust  itself 
away  altogether ;  an'  when  that  day  comes,  Peter,  then 
I  '11  say,  like  the  patriach  in  the  Bible :  '  Lord,  now  lettest 
thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace ! '     Amen,  Peter !  " 

"  Amen !  "  said  I.  And  so,  having  watched  the  old  man 
totter  across  to  "  The  Bull,"  I  turned  into  the  smithy  and 
set  about  lighting  the  fire. 


CHAPTER    VI 

IN    WHICH    I    LEARN    OF    AN    IMPENDING    DANGEE 

I  AM  at  the  forge,  watching  the  deepening  glow  of  the  coals 
as  I  ply  the  bellows ;  and,  listening  to  their  hoarse,  not  un- 
musical drone,  it  seems  like  a  familiar  voice  (or  the  voice 
of  a  familiar),  albeit  a  somewhat  wheezy  one,  speaking  to 
me  in  stertorous  gasps,  something  in  this  wise: 

"  Charmian  Brown  —  desires  to  thank  —  Mr.  Smith  — 
but  because  thanks  —  are  so  poor  and  small  —  and  his 
service  so  great  —  needs  must  she  remember  him  —  " 

"  Remember  me !  "  said  I  aloud,  and,  letting  go  the  shaft 
of  the  bellows  the  better  to  think  this  over,  it  naturally  fol- 
lowed that  the  bellows  grew  suddenly  dumb,  whereupon  I 
seized  the  handle  and  recommenced  blowing  with  a  will. 

"  —  remember  him  as  a  gentleman,"  wheezed  the 
familiar. 

"  Psha !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  —  yet  oftener  as  a  smith  —  " 

"  Hum  !  "  said  I. 

"  —  and  most  of  all  —  as  a  man." 

"  As  a  man !  "  said  I,  and,  turning  my  back  upon  the 
bellows,  I  sat  down  upon  the  anvil  and,  taking  my  chin  in 
my  hand,  stared  away  to  where  the  red  roof  of  old  Amos's 
oast-house  peeped  through  the  swaying  green  of  leaves. 

"  As  a  man  ? "  said  I  to  myself  again,  and  so  fell 
a-dreaming  of  this  Charmian.  And,  in  my  mind,  I  saw 
her,  not  as  she  had  first  appeared,  tall  and  fierce  and  wild, 
but  as  she  had  been  when  she  stooped  to  bind  up  the  hurt  in 
my  brow  —  with  her  deep  eyes  brimful  of  tenderness,  and 
her  mouth  sweet  and  compassionate.     Beautiful  eyes  she 


I  Learn  of  an  Impending  Danger    259 

had,  though  whether  they  were  blue  or  brown  or  black,  I 
could  not  for  the  life  of  me  remember ;  only  I  knew  I  could 
never  forget  the  look  they  had  held  when  she  gave  that 
final  pat  to  the  bandage.  And  here  I  found  that  I  was 
turning  a  little  locket  round  and  round  in  my  fingers,  a 
little,  old-fashioned,  heart-shaped  locket  with  its  quaint 
inscription : 

"  Hee  who  myne  heart  would  keepe  for  long 
Shall  be  a  gentil  man  and  strong." 

I  was  sitting  thus,  plunged  in  a  reverie,  when  a  shadow 
fell  across  the  floor,  and  looking  up  I  beheld  Prudence,  and 
straightway,  slipping  the  locket  back  into  the  bosom  of 
my  shirt,  I  rose  to  my  feet,  somewhat  shamefaced  to  be 
caught  thus  idle. 

Her  face  was  troubled,  and  her  eyes  red,  as  from  recent 
tears,  while  in  her  hand  she  held  a  crumpled  paper. 

"  Mr.  Peter  —  "  she  began,  and  then  stopped,  staring 
at  me. 

"Well,  Prudence.?" 
"  You  —  you  've  seen  him !  " 
"  Him  —  whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  Black  Jarge !  " 

"  No ;   what  should  make  you  think  so  ?  " 
"  Your  face  be  all  cut  —  you  've  been  fightin' !  " 
"  And  supposing   I  have  —  that   is  none   of  George's 
doing ;   he  and  I  are  very  good  friends  —  why  should  we 
quarrel?  " 

"  Then  —  then  it  were  n't  Jarge?  " 
"  No  —  I  have  not  seen  him  since  Saturday." 
"  Thank  God ! "  she  exclaimed,  pressing  her  hand  to 
her  bosom  as  if  to  stay  its  heaving.  "  But  you  must  go," 
she  went  on  breathlessly.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Peter !  I  've  been  so 
fearful  for  'ee,  and  —  and  —  you  might  meet  each  other 
any  time,  so  —  so  you  must  go  away." 

"Prudence,"  said  I,  "Prudence,  what  do  you  mean?" 
For    answer,   she   held   out   the   crumpled   paper,    and, 
scrawled   in    great,    stragghng   characters,   I    read   these 
words : 


2  6o  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Prudence,  —  I  'm  going  away,  I  shall  kill  him  else, 
but  I  shall  come  back.  Tell  him  not  to  cross  my  path, 
or  God  help  him,  and  you,  and  me.  George." 

"  What  does  it  all  mean.  Prudence  ?  "  said  I,  like  a  fool. 

Now,  as  I  spoke,  glancing  at  her  I  saw  her  cheeks,  that 
had  seemed  hitherto  more  pale  than  usual,  grow  suddenly 
scarlet,  and,  meeting  my  eyes,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  two 
hands.  Then,  seeing  her  distress,  in  that  same  instant  I 
found  the  answer  to  my  question,  and  so  stood,  turning 
poor  George's  letter  over  and  over,  more  like  a  fool  than 
ever. 

"  You  must  go  away  —  you  must  go  away ! "  she  re- 
peated. 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  You  must  go  soon ;  he  means  it,  I  —  I  've  seen  death 
in  his  face,"  she  said,  shuddering ;  "  go  to-day  —  the  longer 
you  stay  here  the  worse  for  all  of  us  —  go  now." 

"  Prudence !  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Peter !  "  from  behind  her  hands. 

"  You  always  loved  Black  George,  did  n't  you.''  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Peter." 

"And  you  love  him  still,  don't  you?"  A  moment's 
silence,  then: 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Peter." 

"  Excellent !  "  said  I.  Her  head  was  raised  a  trifle,  and 
one  tearful  eye  looked  at  me  over  her  fingers.  "  I  had 
always  hoped  you  did,"  I  continued,  "  for  his  sake,  and  for 
yours,  and  in  my  way,  a  very  blundering  way  as  it  seems 
now,  I  have  tried  to  bring  you  two  together."  Prudence 
only  sobbed.  "  But  things  are  not  hopeless  yet.  I  think 
I  can  see  a  means  of  straightening  out  this  tangle." 

"  Oh,  if  we  only  could !  "  sobbed  Prudence.  "  Ye  see, 
I  were  very  cruel  to  him,  Mr.  Peter !  " 

"  Just  a  little,  perhaps,"  said  I,  and,  while  she  dabbed 
at  her  pretty  eyes  with  her  snowy  apron,  I  took  pen  and 
ink  from  the  shelf  where  I  kept  them,  which,  together  with 
George's  letter,  I  set  upon  the  anvil.  "  Now,"  said  I,  in 
answer  to  her  questioning  look,  "  write  down  just  here. 


I  Learn  of  an  Impending  Danger    261 

below  where  George  signed  his  name,  what  you  told  me  a 
moment  ago." 

"  You  mean,  that  I  —  " 

"  That  you  love  him,  yes." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Peter !  " 

*'  Prudence,"  said  I,  "  it  is  the  only  way,  so  far  as  I 
can  see,  of  saving  George  from  himself;  and  no  sweet, 
pure  maid  need  be  ashamed  to  tell  her  love,  especially  to 
such  a  man  as  this,  who  worships  the  very  ground  that 
little  shoe  of  yours  has  once  pressed." 

She  glanced  up  at  me,  under  her  wet  lashes,  as  I  said 
this,  and  a  soft  hght  beamed  in  her  eyes,  and  a  smile  hov- 
ered upon  her  red  lips. 

"  Do  he  —  really,  Mr.  Peter?  " 

"  Indeed  he  does.  Prudence,  though  I  think  you  must 
know  that  without  my  telling  you."  So  she  stooped  above 
the  anvil,  blushing  a  little,  and  sighing  a  little,  and  crying 
a  little,  and,  with  fingers  that  trembled  somewhat,  to  be 
sure,  wrote  these  four  words: 

"  George,  I  love  you." 

"  What  now,  Mr.  Peter?  "  she  inquired,  seeing  me  begin 
to  unbuckle  my  leather  apron. 

"  Now,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  going  to  look  for  Black 
George." 

"  No !  —  no !  "  she  cried,  laying  her  hands  upon  my  arm, 
"  no !   no !   if  'ee  do  meet  him,  he  —  he  '11  kill  'ee !  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  will,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  !  —  don't  go !  "  she  pleaded,  shaking  my 
arm  in  her  eagerness ;  "  he  be  so  strong  and  wild  and  quick 

—  he  '11  give  'ee  no  chance  to  speak  —  't  will  be  murder !  " 
"  Prudence,"  said  I,  "  my  mind  is  set  on  it.    I  am  going 

—  for  your  sake,  for  his  sake,  and  my  own  ;  "  saying  which, 
I  loosed  her  hands  gently  and  took  down  my  coat  from  its 
peg. 

"  Dear  God ! "  she  exclaimed,  staring  down  at  the  floor 
with  wide  eyes,  "if  he  were  to  kill  'ee  — ! " 


262  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  my  search  would  be  ended  and  I  should 
be  a  deal  wiser  in  all  things  than  I  am  to-day." 

"  And  he  —  would  be  hanged !  "  said  Prudence,  shud- 
dering. 

"  Probably  —  poor  fellow !  "  said  I.  At  this  she  glanced 
quickly  up,  and  once  again  the  crimson  dyed  her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Peter,  forgive  me !  I  —  I  were  only  thinkin' 
of  Jarge,  and  —  " 

"  And  quite  right  too.  Prudence,"  I  nodded ;  "  he  is 
indeed  worth  any  good  woman's  thoughts ;  let  it  be  your 
duty  to  think  of  him,  and  for  him,  henceforth." 

"  Wait !  "  said  she,  "  wait !  "  And  turning,  she  fled 
through  the  doorway  and  across  the  road,  swift  and  grace- 
ful as  any  bird,  and  presently  was  back  again,  with  some- 
thing hidden  in  her  apron. 

"  He  be  a  strong  man,  and  terrible  in  his  wrath,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  —  love  him,  but  —  take  this  wi'  you,  and  if 
it  —  must  be  —  use  it,  because  I  do  love  him."  Now,  as 
she  said  this,  she  drew  from  her  apron  that  same  brass- 
bound  pistol  that  had  served  me  so  well  against  the 
"  ghost "  and  thrust  it  into  my  hand.  "  Take  it,  Mr. 
Peter  —  take  it,  but  —  oh !  "  —  here  a  great  sob  choked 
her  voice  —  "  don't  —  don't  use  it  —  if  —  if  you  can  help 
it,  for  my  sake." 

"  Why,  Prue !  "  said  I,  touching  her  bowed  head  very 
tenderly,  "  how  can  you  think  I  would  go  up  against  my 
friend  with  death  in  my  hand  —  Heaven  forbid !  "  So  I 
laid  aside  the  weapon  and,  clapping  on  my  hat,  strode  out 
into  the  glory  of  the  summer  morning,  but  left  her  weeping 
in  the  shadows. 


CHAPTER    VII 

WHICH  NARRATES  A  SOMEWHAT  REMARKABLE  CONVERSATION 

To  find  a  man  in  Cambourne  Woods,  even  so  big  a  man 
as  Black  George,  would  seem  as  hard  a  matter  as  to  find 
the  needle  in  the  proverbial  "  bottle  of  hay ; "  the  sun 
crept  westward,  the  day  declined  into  evening,  yet,  hungry 
though  I  was,  I  persevered  in  my  search,  not  so  much  in 
the  hope  of  finding  him  (in  the  which  I  knew  I  must  be 
guided  altogether  by  chance),  as  from  a  disinclination  to 
return,  just  yet,  to  the  cottage.  "  It  would  be  miserable 
there  at  this  hour,"  I  told  myself,  "  miserable  and  lonely." 

Yet  why  should  I  be  lonely;  I,  who  had  gloried  in  my 
solitude  hitherto.''     Whence  then  had  come  this  change.? 

While  I  stood  thus,  seeking  an  answer  to  this  self- 
imposed  question  and  finding  none,  I  heard  some  one  ap- 
proach, whistling,  and,  looking  about,  beheld  a  fellow  with 
an  axe  upon  his  shoulder,  who  strode  along  at  a  good  pace, 
keeping  time  to  his  whistle.  He  gave  me  a  cheery  greeting 
as  he  came  up,  but  without  stopping. 

"  You  seem  in  a  hurry,"  said  I. 

"  Ah !  "  grinned  the  man,  over  his  shoulder,  "  'cause 
why.?  —  'cause  I  be  goin'  'ome." 

"  Home !  "  said  I. 

"  To  supper,"  he  nodded,  and,  forthwith,  began  to 
whistle  again,  while  I  stood  listening  till  the  clear  notes 
had  died  away. 

"  Home !  "  said  I  for  the  second  time,  and  there  came 
upon  me  a  feeling  of  desolation  such  as  I  had  never  known 
even  in  my  neglected  boyhood's  days. 

Home!    truly  a  sweet  word,  a  comfortable  word,  the 


264  The  Broad  Highway 

memory  of  which  has  been  as  oil  and  wine  to  many  a  sick 
and  weary  traveler  upon  this  Broad  Highway  of  life;  a 
little  word,  and  yet  one  which  may  come  betwixt  a  man 
and  temptation,  covering  him  like  a  shield.  "  Roof  and 
walls,  be  they  cottage  or  mansion,  do  not  make  home," 
thought  I,  "  rather  is  it  the  atmosphere  of  mutual  love, 
the  intimacies  of  thought,  the  joys  and  sorrows  endured 
together,  and  the  never-failing  sympathy  —  that  bond  in- 
visible yet  stronger  than  death." 

And,  because  I  had,  hitherto,  known  nothing  of  this, 
I  was  possessed  of  a  great  envy  for  this  axe-fellow  as  I 
walked  on  through  the  wood. 

Now  as  I  went,  it  was  as  if  there  were  two  voices  argu- 
ing together  within  me,  whereof  ensued  the  following  tri- 
angular conversation: 

Myself.  Yet  I  have  my  books  —  I  will  go  to  my 
lonely  cottage  and  bury  myself  among  my  books. 

FiEST  Voice.  Assuredly!  Is  it  for  a  philosopher  to 
envy  a  whistling  axe-fellow  —  go  to ! 

Second  Voice.  Far  better  a  home  and  loving  com- 
panionship than  all  the  philosophy  of  all  the  schools ; 
surely  Happiness  is  greater  than  Learning,  and  more  to 
be  desired  than  Wisdom! 

First  Voice.  Better  rather  that  Destiny  had  never  sent 
her  to  you. 

Myself  (rubbing  my  chin  very  hard,  and  staring  at 
nothing  in  particular).     Her.? 

Second  Voice.  Her !  —  to  be  sure,  she  who  has  been 
in  your  thoughts  all  day  long. 

First  Voice  (with  lofty  disdain).  Crass  folly!  —  a 
woman  utterly  unknown,  who  came  heralded  by  the  roar 
of  wind  and  the  rush  of  rain  —  a  creature  bom  of  the 
tempest,  with  flame  in  her  eyes  and  hair,  and  fire  in  the 
scarlet  of  her  mouth;  a  fierce,  passionate  being,  given  to 
hot  impulse  —  even  to  the  taking  of  a  man's  life! 

("  But,"  said  I,  somewhat  diffidently,  "  the  fellow  was 
a  proved  scoundrel!") 


A  Remarkable  Conversation    265 

FiKST  Voice  (bellowing).  Sophistry!  sophistry!  — 
even  supposing  he  was  the  greatest  of  villains,  does  that 
make  her  less  a  murderess  in  intent? 

Myself.     Hum ! 

FiKST  Voice  (roaring).  Of  course  not  I  Again,  can  this 
woman  even  faintly  compare  with  your  ideal  of  what  a 
woman  should  be  —  this  shrew !  —  this  termagant !  Can  a 
woman  whose  hand  has  the  strength  to  level  a  pistol,  and 
whose  mind  the  will  to  use  it,  be  of  a  nature  gentle,  cling- 
ing, sweet  — 

Second  Voice  (sotto).     And  sticky! 

First  Voice  (howling).    Of  course  not !  —  preposterous ! 

(Hereupon,  finding  no  answer,  I  strode  on  through  the 
alleys  of  the  wood ;  but,  when  I  had  gone  some  distance, 
I  stopped  again,  for  there  rushed  over  me  the  recollection 
of  the  tender  pity  of  her  eyes  and  the  gentle  touch  of  her 
hand,  as  when  she  had  bound  up  my  hurts. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I  doggedly,  "  her  face  can  grow 
more  beautiful  with  pity,  and  surely  no  woman's  hand 
could  be  lighter  or  more  gentle.") 

First  Voice  (with  withering  contempt).  Our  Peter  fel- 
low is  like  to  become  a  preposterous  ass. 

(But,  unheeding,  I  thrust  my  hand  into  my  breast,  and 
drew  out  a  small  handful  of  cambric,  whence  came  a  faint 
perfume  of  violets.  And,  closing  my  eyes,  it  seemed  that 
she  was  kneeling  before  me,  her  arms  about  my  neck,  as 
when  she  had  bound  this  handkerchief  about  my  bleeding 
temples. 

"  Truly,"  said  I,  "  for  that  one  sweet  act  alone,  a  woman 
might  be  worth  dying  for ! ") 

Second  Voice.     Or  better  still  —  living  for ! 

First  Voice  (in  high  indignation).  Balderdash,  sir!  — 
sentimental  balderdash ! 

Second  Voice.     A  truth  incontrovertible! 

("  Folly !  "  said  I,  and  threw  the  handkerchief  from  me. 
But  next  moment,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  I  stooped 
and  picked  it  up  again.) 


2  66  The  Broad  Highway 

FiEST  Voice.  Our  Peter  fellow  is  becoming  the  fool  of 
fools ! 

Myself.  No,  of  that  there  is  not  the  slightest  fear,  be- 
cause —  she  is  —  gone. 

And  thus  I  remained  staring  at  the  handkerchief  for  a 
great  while. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IN   WHICH   I  SEE  A   VISION   IN   THE   GLORY   OF   THE  MOON, 
AND    EAT    OF    A    POACHED    RABBIT 

The  moon  was  rising  as,  hungry  and  weary,  I  came  to 
that  steep  descent  I  have  mentioned  more  than  once,  which 
leads  down  into  the  Hollow,  and  her  pale  radiance  was 
already  upon  the  world  —  a  sleeping  world  wherein  I 
seemed  alone.  And  as  I  stood  to  gaze  upon  the  wonder 
of  the  heavens,  and  the  serene  beauty  of  the  earth,  the 
clock  in  Cranbrook  Church  chimed  nine. 

All  about  me  was  a  soft  stirring  of  leaves,  and  the  rustle 
of  things  unseen,  which  was  as  the  breathing  of  a  sleeping 
host.  Borne  to  my  nostrils  came  the  scent  of  wood  and 
herb  and  dewy  earth,  while  up-stealing  from  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  below,  the  voice  of  the  brook  reached  me,  sing- 
ing its  never-ending  song  —  now  loud  and  clear,  now  sink- 
ing to  a  rippling  murmur —  a  melody  of  joy  and  sorrow, 
of  laughter  and  tears,  like  the  greater  melody  of  Life. 

And,  presently,  I  descended  into  the  shadows,  and,  walk- 
ing on  beside  the  brook,  sat  me  down  upon  a  great  boulder ; 
and,  straightway,  my  weariness  and  hunger  were  forgotten, 
and  I  fell  a-dreaming. 

Truly  it  was  a  night  to  dream  in  —  a  white  night,  full 
of  the  moon  and  the  magic  of  the  moon.  Slowly  she 
mounted  upwards,  peeping  down  at  me  through  whisper- 
ing leaves,  checkering  the  shadows  with  silver,  and  turning 
the  brook  into  a  path  of  silver  for  the  feet  of  fairies.  Yes, 
indeed,  the  very  air  seemed  fraught  with  a  magic  whereby 
the  unreal  became  the  real  and  things  impossible  the  mani- 
festly possible. 


2  68  The  Broad  Highway 

And  so,  staring  up  at  the  moon's  pale  loveliness,  I 
dreamed  the  deathless  dreams  of  long-dead  poets  and 
romancers,  wherein  were  the  notes  of  dreamy  lutes,  the 
soft  whisper  of  trailing  garments,  and  sighing  voices  that 
called  beneath  the  breath.  Between  Petrarch's  Laura  and 
Dante's  Beatrice  came  one  as  proud  and  gracious  and 
beautiful  as  they,  deep-bosomed,  broad-hipped,  with  a  red, 
red  mouth,  and  a  subtle  witchery  of  the  eyes.  I  dreamed 
of  nymphs  and  satyrs,  of  fauns  and  dryads,  and  of  the 
young  Endymion  who,  on  just  such  another  night,  in  just 
such  another  leafy  bower,  waited  the  coming  of  his  goddess. 

Now  as  I  sat  thus,  chin  in  hand,  I  heard  a  little  sound 
behind  me,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  and,  turning  my  head, 
beheld  one  who  stood  half  in  shadow,  half  in  moonlight, 
looking  down  at  me  beneath  a  shy  languor  of  drooping  lids, 
with  eyes  hidden  by  their  lashes  —  a  woman  tall  and  fair, 
and  strong  as  Dian's  self. 

Very  still  she  stood,  and  half  wistful,  as  if  waiting  for 
me  to  speak,  and  very  silent  I  sat,  staring  up  at  her  as  she 
had  been  the  embodiment  of  my  dreams  conjured  up  by 
the  magic  of  the  night,  while,  from  the  mysteries  of  the 
woods,  stole  the  soft,  sweet  song  of  a  nightingale. 

"  Charmian.P  "  said  I  at  last,  speaking  almost  in  a  whis- 
per. Surely  this  was  the  sweet  goddess  herself,  and  I  thfi 
wondering  shepherd  on  Mount  Ida's  solitude. 

"  Charmian  !  "  said  I  again,  "  you  —  have  come  then  ?  " 
With  the  words  I  rose.  "You  have  come,  then.?"  I 
repeated. 

But  now  she  sighed  a  little,  and,  turning  her  head  away, 
laughed  very  sweet  and  low  —  and  sighed  again. 

"  Were  you  expecting  me.''  " 

"  I  —  I  think  I  was  —  that  is  —  I  —  I  don't  know !  "  I 
stammered. 

"  Then  you  were  not  —  very  surprised  to  see  me?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  you  are  not  —  very  sorry  to  see  me?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  —  are  you  not  very  —  glad  to  see  me?  " 


A  Vision  in  the  Glory  of  the  Moon    269 

"  Yes." 

Here  there  fell  a  silence  between  us,  yet  a  silence  that 
was  full  of  leafy  stirrings,  soft  night  noises,  and  the 
languorous  murmur  of  the  brook.  Presently  Charmian 
reached  out  a  hand,  broke  off  a  twig  of  willow  and  began 
to  turn  it  round  and  round  in  her  white  fingers,  while  I 
sought  vainly  for  something  to  say. 

"  When  I  went  away  this  morning,"  she  began  at  last, 
looking  down  at  the  twig,  "  I  did  n't  think  I  should  ever 
come  back  again." 

"  No,  I  —  I  supposed  not,"  said  I  awkwardly. 

"  But,  you  see,  I  had  no  money." 

"  No  money.''  " 

"  Not  a  penny.  It  was  not  until  I  had  walked  a  long, 
long  way,  and  was  very  tired,  and  terribly  hungry,  that  I 
found  I  had  n't  enough  to  buy  even  a  crust  of  bread." 

"  And  there  was  three  pounds,  fifteen  shillings,  and  six- 
pence in  Donald's  old  shoe,"  said  I. 

"  Sevenpence !  "  she  corrected. 

"  Sevenpence?  "  said  I,  in  some  surprise. 

"  Three  pounds,  fifteen  shillings,  and  sevenpence.  I 
counted  it." 

"Oh!"  said  I. 

She  nodded.  "  And  in  the  other  I  found  a  small,  very 
curiously  shaped  piece  of  wood." 

"  Ah  —  yes,  I  've  been  looking  for  that  all  the  week. 
You  see,  when  I  made  my  table,  by  some  miscalculation, 
one  leg  persisted  in  coming  out  shorter  than  the  others, 
which  necessitated  its  being  shored  up  by  a  book  until  I 
made  that  block." 

"  Mr.  Peter  Vibart's  Virgil  book ! "  she  said,  nodding  to 
the  twig. 

"  Y-e-s  !  "  said  I,  somewhat  disconcerted. 

"  It  was  a  pity  to  use  a  book,"  she  went  on,  still  very 
intent  upon  the  twig,  "  even  if  that  book  does  belong  to 
a  man  with  such  a  name  as  Peter  Vibart." 

Now  presently,  seeing  I  was  silent,  she  stole  a  glance 
at  me,  and  looking,  laughed. 


270  The  Broad  Highway 

"  But,"  she  continued  more  seriously,  "  this  has  nothing 
to  do  with  you,  of  course,  nor  me,  for  that  matter,  and  I 
was  trying  to  tell  you  how  hungry  —  how  hatefully  hungry 
I  was,  and  I  could  n't  beg,  could  I,  and  so  —  and  so  I  — 
I  —  " 

"  You  came  back,"  said  I. 

*'  I  came  back." 

"  Being  hungry." 

"  Famishing !  " 

"  Three  pounds,  fifteen  shillings,  and  —  sevenpence  is 
not  a  great  sum,"  said  I,  "  but  perhaps  it  will  enable  you 
to  reach  your  family." 

"  I  'm  afraid  not ;   you  see  I  have  no  family." 

"  Your  friends,  then." 

"  I  have  no  friends ;   I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

"  Oh !  "  said  I,  and  turned  to  stare  down  into  the  brook, 
for  I  could  think  only  that  she  was  alone  and  solitary,  even 
as  I,  which  seemed  like  an  invisible  bond  between  us,  draw- 
ing us  each  nearer  the  other,  whereat  I  felt  ridiculously 
pleased  that  this  should  be  so. 

"  No,"  said  Charmian,  still  intent  upon  the  twig,  "  I 
have  neither  friends  nor  family  nor  money,  and  so  — 
being  hungry  —  I  came  back  here,  and  ate  up  all  the 
bacon." 

"  Why,  I  had  n't  left  much,  if  I  remember." 

"  Six  slices  !  " 

Now,  as  she  stood,  half  in  shadow,  half  in  moonlight, 
I  could  not  help  but  be  conscious  of  her  loveliness.  She 
was  no  pretty  woman ;  beneath  the  high  beauty  of  her  face 
lay  a  dormant  power  that  is  ever  at  odds  with  prettiness, 
and  before  which  I  felt  vaguely  at  a  loss.  And  yet,  be- 
cause of  her  warm  beauty,  because  of  the  elusive  witchery 
of  her  eyes,  the  soft,  sweet  column  of  the  neck  and  the  sway 
of  the  figure  in  the  moonlight  —  because  she  was  no  god- 
dess, and  I  no  shepherd  in  Arcadia,  I  clasped  my  hands 
behind  me,  and  turned  to  look  down  into  the  stream. 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  speaking  my  thought  aloud,  "  this  is 
no  place  for  a  woman,  after  all." 


A  Vision  in  the  Glory  of  the  Moon    271 

"  No,"  said  she  very  softly. 

"  No  —  although,  to  be  sure,  there  are  worse  places." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I  suppose  so." 

"  Then  again,  it  is  very  far  removed  from  the  world,  so 
that  a  woman  must  needs  be  cut  off  from  all  those  little 
delicacies  and  refinements  that  are  supposed  to  be  essential 
to  her  existence." 

"  Yes,"  she  sighed. 

"  Though  what,"  I  continued,  "  what  on  earth  would  be 
the  use  of  a  —  harp,  let  us  say,  or  a  pair  of  curling-irons 
in  this  wilderness,  I  don't  know." 

"  One  could  play  upon  the  one  and  curl  one's  hair  with 
the  other,  and  there  is  a  deal  of  pleasure  to  be  had  from 
both,"  said  she. 

"  Then  also,"  I  pursued,  "  this  place,  as  I  told  you,  is 
said  to  be  haunted  —  not,"  I  went  on,  seeing  that  she  was 
silent,  "  not  that  you  believe  in  such  things,  of  course.'* 
But  the  cottage  is  very  rough,  and  ill  and  clumsily  fur- 
nished —  though,  to  be  sure,  it  might  be  made  comfortable 
enough,  and  —  " 

"  Well.''  "  she  inquired,  as  I  paused. 

"  Then  —  "  said  I,  and  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  watch- 
ing the  play  of  the  moonbeams  on  the  rippling  water. 

"  Well.''  "  said  she  again  at  last. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  if  you  are  friendless,  God  forbid  that 
I  should  refuse  you  the  shelter  of  even  such  a  place  as  this 
—  so  —  if  you  are  homeless,  and  without  money  —  stay 
here  —  if  you  will  —  so  long  as  it  pleases  you." 

I  kept  my  eyes  directed  to  the  running  water  at  ray  feet 
as  I  waited  her  answer,  and  it  seemed  a  very  long  time 
before  she  spoke. 

"Are  you  fond  of  stewed  rabbit.'"' 

"  Rabbit !  "  said  I,  staring. 

"  With  onions  !  " 

"Onions.?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  cook  a  little,  and  supper  is  waiting." 

"Supper?" 

"  So  if  you  are  hungry  —  " 


272  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  am  ravenous !  " 

"  Then  why  not  come  home  and  eat  it  ?  " 

"Home?" 

"  Instead  of  echoing  my  words  and  staring  the  poor 
moon  out  of  countenance?  Come,"  and,  with  the  word,  she 
turned  and  led  the  way  to  the  cottage.  And  behold,  the 
candles  were  lighted,  the  table  was  spread  with  a  snowy 
cloth,  and  a  pot  simmered  upon  the  hob :  a  pot  that  gave 
forth  an  odor  delectable,  and  over  which  Charmian  bent 
forthwith,  and  into  which  she  gazed  with  an  anxious  brow 
and  thrust  an  inquiring  fork. 

"I  think  it's  all  right!" 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,"  said  I,  inhaling  the  appetizing  aroma 
—  "  but,  pray,  where  did  you  get  it?  " 

"  A  man  sold  it  to  me  —  he  had  a  lot  of  them." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I,  "  probably  poached." 

"  I  bought  this  for  sixpence  —  out  of  the  old  shoe." 

"  Sixpence  ?  —  then  they  certainly  were  poached.  These 
are  the  Cambourne  Woods,  and  everything  upon  them  — 
fish,  flesh,  or  fowl,  living  or  dead  —  belongs  to  the  Lady 
Sophia  Sefton  of  Cambourne." 

"  Then  —  perhaps  we  had  better  not  eat  it,"  said  she, 
glancing  at  me  over  her  shoulder  —  but,  meeting  my  eye, 
she  laughed.  And  so  we  presently  sat  down  to  supper  and, 
poached  though  it  may  have  been,  that  rabbit  made  a  truly 
noble  end,  notwithstanding. 


CHAPTER    IX 

WHICH    RELATES    SOMEWHAT    OF    CHARMIAN    BROWN 

We  were  sitting  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Now,"  said  Charmian,  staring  up  at  the  luminous 
heaven,  "  let  us  talk." 

"  Willingly,"  I  answered ;   "  let  us  talk  of  stars." 

"  No  —  let  us  talk  of  ourselves." 

"  As  you  please." 

"  Very  well,  you  begin." 

"  Well  —  I  am  a  blacksmith." 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  so  before." 

"  And  I  make  horseshoes  —  " 

"  He  is  a  blacksmith,  and  makes  horseshoes ! "  said 
Charmian,  nodding  at  the  moon. 

"  And  I  live  here,  in  this  solitude,  very  contentedly ;  so 
that  it  is  only  reasonable  to  suppose  that  I  shall  continue 
to  live  here,  and  make  ^horseshoes  —  though,  really,"  I 
broke  off,  letting  my  eyes  wander  from  my  companion's 
upturned  face  back  to  the  glowing  sky,  once  more,  "  there 
is  little  I  could  tell  you  about  so  commonplace  a  person  as 
myself  that  is  likely  to  interest  you." 

"  No,"  said  Charmian,  "  evidently  not ! "  Here  my 
gaze  came  down  to  her  face  again  so  quickly  that  I  fancied 
I  detected  the  ghost  of  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  by  all  means  let  us  talk  of  something 
else." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed;  "let  us  talk  of  the  woman  Char- 
mian —  Charmian  —  Brown."  A  tress  of  hair  had  come 
loose,  and  hung  low  above  her  brow,  and  in  its  shadow  her 
eyes  seemed  more  elusive,  more  mocking  than  ever,  and, 


2  74  The  Broad  Highway 

while  our  glances  met,  she  put  up  a  hand  and  began  to 
wind  this  glossy  tress  round  and  round  her  finger. 

"Well?"  said  she. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  supposing  you  begin." 

"  But  is  she  likely  to  interest  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  —  yes." 

"  Are  n't  you  sure,  then  ?  " 

'*  Quite  sure  —  certainly." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  would  take  that  for  granted." 

"  A  woman  should  take  nothing  for  granted,  sir." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  supposing  you  begin." 

"  I  've  half  a  mind  not  to,"  she  retorted,  curling  the 
tress  of  hair  again,  and  then,  suddenly :  "  What  do  you 
think  of  Charmian  Brown  ?  " 

"  I  think  of  her  as  little  as  I  can." 

"  Indeed,  sir !  " 

"  Indeed,"  said  I. 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  I,  knocking  the  ashes  from  my  pipe, 
"  because  the  more  I  think  about  her  the  more  incompre- 
hensible she  becomes." 

"  Have  you  known  many  women  ?  " 

"  Very  few,"  I  confessed,  "  but  —  " 

"  But.?  " 

"  I  am  not  altogether  unfamiliar  with  the  sex  —  for  I 
have  known  a  great  number  —  in  books." 

"  Our  blacksmith,"  said  Charmian,  addressing  the 
moon  again,  "  has  known  many  women  —  in  books !  His 
knowledge  is,  therefore,  profound !  "  and  she  laughed. 

"  May  I  ask  why  you  laugh  at  me  .'*  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  she,  "  don't  you  know  that  women  in  books 
and  women  out  of  books  are  no  more  the  same  than  day 
and  night,  or  summer  and  winter?  " 

"  And  yet  there  are  thousands  of  women  who  exist  for 
us  in  books  only,  Laura,  Beatrice,  Trojan  Helen,  Aspasia, 
the  glorious  Phryne,  and  hosts  of  others,"  I  demurred. 

"  Yes ;    but  they  exist  for  us  only  as  their  historians 


Charmian  Brown  275 

permit  them,  as  their  biographers  saw,  or  imagined  them. 
Would  Petrarch  ever  have  permitted  Laura  to  do  an  un- 
gracious act,  or  anything  which,  to  his  masculine  under- 
standing, seemed  unfeminine;  and  would  Dante  have  men- 
tioned it  had  Beatrice  been  guilty  of  one?  A  man  can 
no  more  understand  a  woman  from  the  reading  of  books 
than  he  can  learn  Latin  or  Greek  from  staring  at  the 
sky." 

"  Of  that,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  of  that  I  am  not 
so  sure." 

"  Then  —  personally  —  you  know  very  little  concern- 
ing women  .'*  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  have  always  been  too  busy,"  said  I.  Here  Charmian 
turned  to  look  at  me  again. 

"  Too  busy.''  "  she  repeated,  as  though  she  had  not  heard 
aright;   "  too  busy.?  " 

"  Much  too  busy !  "  Now,  when  I  said  this,  she  laughed, 
and  then  she  frowned,  and  then  she  laughed  again. 

"  You  would  much  rather  make  a  —  horseshoe  than  talk 
with  a  woman,  perhaps .''  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  would." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Charmian,  frowning  again,  but  this  time 
she  did  not  look  at  me. 

"  You  see,"  I  explained,  turning  my  empty  pipe  over 
and  over,  rather  aimlessly,  "  when  I  make  a  horseshoe  I 
take  a  piece  of  iron  and,  having  heated  it,  I  bend  and  shape 
it,  and  with  every  hammer-stroke  I  see  it  growing  into 
what  I  would  have  it  —  I  am  sure  of  it,  from  start  to 
finish ;   now,  with  a  woman  it  is  —  different." 

"  You  mean  that  you  cannot  bend,  and  shape  her,  like 
your  horseshoe  ?  "  still  without  looking  towards  me. 

"  I  mean  that  —  that  I  fear  I  should  never  be  quite  sure 
of  a  —  woman,  as  I  am  of  my  horseshoe." 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Charmian,  beginning  to  braid  the 
tress  of  hair,  "  a  woman  cannot,  at  any  time,  be  said  to 
resemble  a  horseshoe  —  very  much,  can  she?  " 

"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  you  know  what  I  mean  — ?  " 

"  There  are  Laura  and  Beatrice  and  Helen  and  Aspasia 


276  The  Broad  Highway 

and  Phrjne,  and  hosts  of  others,"  said  Charmian,  nod- 
ding to  the  moon  again.  "  Oh,  yes  —  our  blacksmith  has 
read  of  so  many  women  in  books  that  he  has  no  more  idea 
of  women  out  of  books  than  I  of  Sanscrit." 

And,  in  a  little  while,  seeing  I  was  silent,  she  conde- 
scended to  glance  towards  me: 

"  Then  I  suppose,  under  the  circumstances,  you  have 
never  been  —  in  love  ?  " 

"  In  love.?  "  I  repeated,  and  dropped  my  pipe. 

"  In  love." 

"  The  Lord  forbid !  " 

"Why,  pray.?" 

"  Because  Love  is  a  disease  —  a  madness,  coming  be- 
tween a  man  and  his  life's  work.  Love !  "  said  I,  "  it  is  a 
calamity !  " 

"  Never  having  been  in  love  himself,  our  blacksmith, 
very  naturally,  knows  all  about  it !  "  said  Charmian  to  the 
moon. 

"  I  speak  only  of  such  things  as  I  have  read  —  "I 
began. 

"  More  books !  "  she  sighed. 

"  —  words  of  men,  much  wiser  than  I  —  poets  and 
philosophers,  written  —  " 

"  When  they  were  old  and  gray-headed,"  Charmian 
broke  in;  "  when  they  were  quite  incapable  of  judging  the 
matter  —  though  many  a  grave  philosopher  loved ;  now 
did  n't  he.?" 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I,  rather  hipped,  "  Dionysius  Lam- 
bienus,  I  think,  says  somewhere  that  a  woman  with  a  big 
mouth  is  infinitely  sweeter  in  the  kissing  —  and  —  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  read  that  in  a  book .?  "  she  in- 
quired, glancing  at  me  sideways. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  I  answered,  "  a  philosopher  may 
love,  but  not  for  the  mere  sake  of  loving." 

"  For  whose  sake  then,  I  wonder.?  " 

"  A  man  who  esteems  trifles  for  their  own  sake  is  a  trifler, 
but  one  who  values  them,  rather,  for  the  deductions  that 
may  be  drawn  from  them  —  he  is  a  philosopher." 


Charmian  Brown  277 

Charmian  rose,  and  stood  looking  down  at  me  very 
strangely. 

"  So !  "  said  she,  throwing  back  her  head,  "  so,  throned 
in  lofty  might,  superior  Mr.  Smith  thinks  Love  a  trifle, 
does  he  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Vibart,  as  I  think  you  know,"  said  I,  stung 
by  her  look  or  her  tone,  or  both. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  seeming  to  look  down  at  me  from 
an  immeasurable  attitude,  "  but  I  prefer  to  know  him,  just 
now,  as  Superior  Mr.  Smith." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  I,  and  rose  also ;  but,  even  then, 
though  she  had  to  look  up  to  me,  I  had  the  same  inward 
conviction  that  her  eyes  were  regarding  me  from  a  great 
height ;  wherefore  I  attempted  —  quite  unsuccessfully  — 
to  light  my  pipe. 

And  after  I  had  struck  flint  and  steel  vainly,  perhaps  a 
dozen  times,  Charmian  took  the  box  from  me,  and,  igniting 
the  tinder,  held  it  for  me  while  I  lighted  my  tobacco. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  I,  as  she  returned  the  box,  and 
then  I  saw  that  she  was  smiling.  "  Talking  of  Charmian 
Brown  —  "I  began. 

"  But  we  are  not." 

"  Then  suppose  you  begin .''  " 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  hear  about  that  —  humble 
person.''  " 

"  Very  much !  " 

"  Then  you  must  know,  in  the  first  place,  that  she  is  old, 
sir,  dreadfully  old !  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  she  really  cannot  be  more  than  — 
twenty-three  —  or  four  at  the  most." 

"  She  is  j  ust  twenty-one !  "  returned  Charmian,  rather 
hastily,  I  thought. 

"  Quite  a  child  !  " 

"  No,  indeed  —  it  is  experience  that  ages  one  —  and  by 
experience  she  is  quite  —  two  hundred !  " 

"  The  wonder  is  that  she  still  lives." 

"  Indeed  it  is  !  " 

"  And,  being  of  such  a  ripe  age,  it  is  probable  that  she, 
at  any  rate,  has  —  been  in  love." 


278  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Scores  of  times  !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  I,  puflSng  very  hard  at  ray  pipe. 

"  Or  fancied  so,"  said  Charmian. 

"  That,"  I  replied,  "  that  is  a  very  different  thing !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Well  — isn't  it?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Very  well,  then,  continue,  I  beg." 

"  Now,  this  woman,"  Charmian  went  on,  beginning  to 
curl  the  tress  of  hair  again,  "  hating  the  world  about  her 
with  its  shams,  its  hypocrisy,  and  cruelty,  ran  away  from 
it  all,  one  day,  with  a  villain." 

"  And  why  with  a  villain  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  a  villain  1  " 

"  That,"  said  I,  turning  to  look  at  her,  "  that  I  do  not 
understand !  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't  suppose  you  would,"  she  answered. 

"  Hum !  "  said  I,  rubbing  my  chin.  "  And  why  did  you 
run  away  from  him  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  a  villain." 

"  That  was  very  illogical !  "  said  I. 

"  But  very  sensible,  sir."  Here  there  fell  a  silence  be- 
tween us,  and,  as  we  walked,  now  and  then  her  gown  would 
brush  my  knee,  or  her  shoulder  touch  mine,  for  the  path 
was  very  narrow. 

"  And  —  did  you  —  "I  began  suddenly,  and  stopped. 

"DidI  — what,  sir.?" 

"  Did  you  love  him  ?  "  said  I,  staring  straight  in  front 
of  me. 

"I  —  ran  away  from  him." 

"  And  —  do  you  —  love  him.'*  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Charmian,  speaking  very  slowly,  "  I 
suppose  you  cannot  understand  a  woman  hating  and  lov- 
ing a  man,  admiring  and  despising  him,  both  at  the  same 
time?" 

"  No,  I  can't." 

"  Can  you  understand  one  glorying  in  the  tempest  that 
may  destroy  her,  riding  a  fierce  horse  that  may  crush  her, 


Charmian  Brown  279 

or  being  attracted  by  a  will  strong  and  masterful,  before 
which  all  must  yield  or  break?  " 

"  I  think  I  can." 

"  Then,"  said  Charmian,  "  this  man  is  strong  and  wild 
and  very  masterful,  and  so  —  I  ran  away  with  him." 

"  And  do  you  —  love  him  ?  "  We  walked  on  some  dis- 
tance ere  she  answered: 

"I  —  don't  know." 

"  Not  sure,  then  ?  " 

«  No." 

After  this  we  fell  silent  altogether,  yet  once,  when  I  hap- 
pened to  glance  at  her,  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  very  bright 
beneath  the  shadow  of  her  drooping  lashes,  and  that  her 
lips  were  smiling;  and  I  pondered  very  deeply  as  to  why 
this  should  be. 

Re-entering  the  cottage,  I  closed  the  door,  and  waited 
the  while  she  lighted  my  candle. 

And,  having  taken  the  candle  from  her  hand,  I  bade  her 
"  Good  night,"  but  paused  at  the  door  of  my  chamber. 

"  You  feel  —  quite  safe  here.''  " 

"  Quite  safe !  " 

"  Despite  the  color  of  my  hair  and  eyes  —  you  have  no 
fear  of  —  Peter  Smith?  " 

"  None !  " 

"  Because  —  he  is  neither  fierce  nor  wild  nor  master- 
ful !  " 

"  Because  he  is  neither  fierce  nor  wild,"  she  echoed. 

"  Nor  masterful !  "  said  I. 

"  Nor  masterful !  "  said  Charmian,  with  averted  head. 
So  I  opened  the  door,  but,  even  then,  must  needs  turn  back 
again. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  so  very  —  different  —  from  him?  " 

"  As  different  as  day  from  night,  as  the  lamb  from  the 
wolf,"  said  she,  without  looking  at  me.  "  Good  night, 
Peter ! » 

"  Good  night !  "  said  I,  and  so,  going  into  my  room,  I 
closed  the  door  behind  me. 

"  A  lamb !  "  said  I,  tearing  off  my  neckcloth,  and  sat  for 


2  8o  The  Broad  Highway 

some  time  listening  to  her  footstep  and  the  soft  rustle 
of  her  petticoats  going  to  and  fro. 

"  A  lamb !  "  said  I  again,  and  slowly  drew  off  my  coat. 
As  I  did  so,  a  little  cambric  handkerchief  fell  to  the  floor, 
and  I  kicked  it,  forthwith,  into  a  corner. 

"  A  lamb !  "  said  I,  for  the  third  time,  but,  at  this  mo- 
ment, came  a  light  tap  upon  the  door. 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  I,  without  moving. 

"  Oh,  how  is  your  injured  thumb?  " 

"  Thank  you,  it  is  as  well  as  can  be  expected." 

"  Does  it  pain  you  very  much.''  " 

"  It  is  not  unbearable !  "  said  I. 

"  Good  night,  Peter !  "  and  I  heard  her  move  away. 
But  presently  she  was  back  again. 

"  Oh,  Peter.?  " 

"Well.?" 

"  Are  you  frowning?  " 

"I  —  I  think  I  was  —  why?  " 

"  When  you  frown,  you  are  very  like  —  him,  and  have 
the  same  square  set  of  the  mouth  and  chin,  when  you  are 
angry  —  so  don't,  please  don't  frown,  Peter  —  Good 
night !  " 

"  Good  night,  Charmian !  "  said  I,  and  stooping,  I  picked 
up  the  little  handkerchief  and  thrust  it  under  my  pillow. 


CHAPTER    X 

I    AM    SUSPECTED    OF    THE    BLACK    ABT 
**  VlBAST  !  " 

The  word  had  been  uttered  close  behind  me,  and  very 
softly,  yet  I  started  at  this  sudden  mention  of  my  name 
and  stood  for  a  moment  with  my  hammer  poised  above  the 
anvil  ere  I  turned  and  faced  the  speaker.  He  was  a  tall 
man  with  a  stubbly  growth  of  grizzled  hair  about  his  lank 
jaws,  and  he  was  leaning  in  at  that  window  of  the  smithy 
which  gave  upon  a  certain  grassy  back  lane. 

"  You  spoke,  I  think !  "  said  I. 

"  I  said,  '  Vibart' !  " 

"Well?" 

"Well?" 

"  And  why  should  you  say  '  Vibart '?  " 

"  And  why  should  you  start?  "  Beneath  the  broad,  flap- 
ping hat  his  eyes  glowed  with  a  sudden  intensity  as  he 
waited  my  answer. 

"  It  is  familiar,"  said  I. 

"  Ha !  familiar  ?  "  he  repeated,  and  his  features  were 
suddenly  contorted  as  with  a  strong  convulsion,  and  his 
txieth  gleamed  between  his  pallid  lips. 

My  hammer  was  yet  in  my  grasp,  and,  as  I  met  this 
baleful  look,  my  fingers  tightened  instinctively  about  the 
shaft. 

"  Familiar?  "  said  he  again. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded ;  "  like  your  face,  for  it  would  almost 
seem  that  I  have  seen  you  somewhere  before,  and  I  seldom 
forget  faces." 

"  Nor  do  I !  "  said  the  man. 


282  The  Broad  Highway 

Now,  while  we  thus  fronted  each  other,  there  came  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  and  John  Pringle,  the 
Carrier,  appeared,  followed  by  the  pessimistic  Job. 

"  Marnin',  Peter !  —  them  'orseshoes,"  began  John,  paus- 
ing just  outside  the  smithy  door,  "  you  was  to  finish  'em 
's  arternoon ;  if  so  be  as  they  bean't  done,  you  bein'  short- 
'anded  wi'out  Jarge,  why,  I  can  wait."  Now,  during  this 
speech,  I  was  aware  that  both  his  and  Job's  eyes  had  wan- 
dered from  my  bandaged  thumb  to  my  bare  throat,  and 
become  fixed  there. 

"  Come  in  and  sit  down,"  said  I,  nodding  to  each,  as  I 
blew  up  the  fire,  "  come  in."  For  a  moment  they  hesitated, 
then  John  stepped  gingerly  into  the  smithy,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Job,  and,  watching  them  beneath  my  brows  as 
I  stooped  above  the  shaft  of  the  bellows,  I  saw  each  of 
them  furtively  cross  his  fingers. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,  John  Pringle.''  "  said  I. 

"Do  what,  Peter?" 

"  Cross  your  fingers." 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Peter,"  said  John,  glancing  in  turn  at 
the  floor,  the  rafters,  the  fire,  and  the  anvil,  but  never  at 
me,  "  ye  see,  it  be  just  a  kind  o'  way  o'  mine." 

"  But  why  does  Job  do  the  same.?  *' 

"  An'  why  do  'ee  look  at  a  man  so  sharp  an'  sudden- 
like.'* "  retorted  Job  sullenly;  "dang  me!  if  it  aren't 
enough  to  send  cold  shivers  up  a  chap's  spine  —  I  never 
see  such  a  pair  o'  eyes  afore  —  no  —  nor  don't  want  to 
again." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  I ;  "  my  eyes  can't  hurt  you." 

"  An'  'ow  am  I  to  know  that,  'ow  am  I  to  be  sure  o' 
that;  an'  you  wi'  your  throat  all  torn  wi'  devil's  claws 
an'  demon's  clutches  —  it  bean't  nat'ral  —  Old  Amos  says 
so,  an'  I  sez  so." 

"  Pure  folly !  "  said  I,  plucking  the  iron  from  the  fire, 
and  beginning  to  beat  and  shape  it  with  my  hammer,  but 
presently,  remembering  the  strange  man  who  had  spoken 
my  name,  I  looked  up,  and  then  I  saw  that  he  was  gone. 
"  Where  is  he.''  "  said  I  involuntarily. 


I  am  Suspected  of  the  Black  Art    283 

"  Where  's  who?  "  inquired  John  Pringle,  glancing  about 
uneasily. 

"  The  fellow  who  was  talking  to  me  as  you  came  up?  " 

"  I  did  n't  see  no  fellow !  "  said  Job,  looking  at  John  and 
edging  nearer  the  door. 

"  Nor  me  neither !  "  chimed  in  John  Pringle,  looking  at 
Job. 

"  Why,  he  was  leaning  in  at  the  window  here,  not  a 
minute  ago,"  said  I,  and,  plunging  the  half-finished  horse- 
shoe back  into  the  fire,  I  stepped  out  into  the  road,  but 
the  man  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Very  strange !  "  said  I. 

"  What  might  'e  'ave  been  like,  now  ?  "  inquired  John. 

"  He  was  tall  and  thin,  and  wore  a  big  flapping  hat." 

John  Pringle  coughed,  scratched  his  chin,  and  coughed 
again. 

"What  is  it,  John?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  then,  you  could  n't  'appen  to  notice  —  'im 
wearin'  'is  'at  —  you  could  n't  'appen  to  notice  if  'e  'ad 
ever  a  pair  o'  'orns,  Peter?  " 

"  Horns  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"Or  a  — tail,  Peter?" 

"  Or  even  a  —  'oof,  now?  "  suggested  Job. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  "  what 
might  you  be  driving  at?  " 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Peter,"  answered  John,  coughing  again, 
and  scratching  his  chin  harder  than  ever,  "  ye  see,  Peter, 
it  are  n't  nat'ral  for  a  'uman  bein'  to  go  a-vanishin'  away 
like  this  'ere  —  if  't  were  a  man  as  you  was  a-talkin'  to  —  " 

"  Which  I  doubts !  "  muttered  Job. 

"  If  't  were  a  man,  Peter,  then  I  axes  you  —  where  is 
that  man?  " 

Before  I  could  answer  this  pointed  question,  old  Joel 
Amos  hobbled  up,  who  paused  on  the  threshold  to  address 
some  one  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  on,  James,  'ere  'e  be  —  come  for'ard,  James,  like 
a  man." 

Thus  adjured,  another  individual  appeared:  a  somewhat 


284  The  Broad  Highway 

flaccid-looking  individual,  with  colorless  hair  and  eyes,  one 
who  seemed  to  exhale  an  air  of  apology,  as  it  were,  from 
the  hobnailed  boot  upon  the  floor  to  the  grimy  forefinger 
that  touched  the  straw-like  hair  in  salutation. 

"  Mamin',,  Peter !  "  said  Old  Amos,  "  this  yere  is  — 
Button." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  I,  acknowledging  the  intro- 
duction, "and  what  can  I  do  for  Mr.  Dutton  ?  "  The  latter, 
instead  of  replying,  took  out  a  vivid  belcher  handkerchief, 
and  apologetically  mopped  his  face. 

"  Speak  up,  James  Dutton,"  said  Old  Amos. 

"  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Dutton,  "  Lord !  I  du  be  that  'ot ! 
—  you  speak  for  I,  Amos,  du." 

"  Well,"  began  Old  Amos,  not  ill-pleased,  "  this  'ere 
Dutton  wants  to  ax  'ee  a  question,  'e  du,  Peter." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  answer  it,  if  I  can,"  I  returned. 

"  You  'ear  that?  —  well,  ax  your  question,  James  Dut- 
ton," commanded  the  old  man. 

"  W'y,  ye  see,  Amos,"  began  Dutton,  positively  reeking 
apology,  "  I  du  be  that  on-common  'ot  —  you  ax  un." 

"  W'y,  then,  Peter,"  began  Amos,  with  great  unction, 
"  it 's  'is  pigs  !  " 

"  Pigs  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  staring. 

"Ah !  pigs,  Peter,"  nodded  Old  Amos,  "  Dutton's  pigs ; 
'is  sow  farrowed  last  week  —  at  three  in  the  marnin'  — 
nine  of  'em !  " 

"Well?  "  said  I,  wondering  more  and  more. 

"  Well,  Peter,  they  was  a  fine  'earty  lot,  an'  all  a-doin' 
well  —  till  last  Monday." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  I. 

"  Last  Monday  night,  four  on  'em  sickened  an'  died !  " 

"  Most  unfortunate !  "  said  I. 

"  An'  the  rest  'as  never  been  the  same  since." 

*'  Probably  ate  something  that  disagreed  with  them,'* 
said  I,  picking  up  my  hammer  and  laying  it  down  again. 
Old  Amos  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You  know  James  Dutton's  pigsty,  don't  ye,  Peter?  " 

"  I  really  can't  say  that  I  do." 


I  am  Suspected  of  the  Black  Art    285 

*'  Yet  you  pass  it  every  day  on  your  way  to  the  'Oiler 
—  it  lays  just  be'ind  Simon's  oast-'ouse,  as  James  'isself 
will  teU  'ee." 

"  So  it  du,"  interpolated  Button,  with  an  apologetic 
nod,  "  which,  leastwa3's,  if  it  don't,  can't  be  no'ow ! "  hav- 
ing delivered  himself  of  which,  he  buried  his  face  in  the 
belcher  handkerchief. 

"  Now,  one  evenin',  Peter,"  continued  Old  Amos,  "  one 
evenin'  you  leaned  over  the  fence  o'  that  theer  pigsty  an' 
stood  a-lookin'  at  they  pigs  for,  p'r'aps,  ten  minutes." 

"  Did  I?  " 

"  Ay,  that  ye  did  —  James  Dutton  see  ye,  an'  'is  wife, 
she  see  ye  tu,  and  I  see  ye." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  probably  I  did.     Well.?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  round  upon  his 
hearers,  and  bringing  out  each  word  with  the  greatest 
unction,  "  that  theer  evenin'  were  last  Monday  evenin'  as 
ever  was  —  the  very  same  hour  as  Button's  pigs  sickened 
an'  died !  "  Hereupon  John  Pringle  and  Job  rose  simul- 
taneously from  where  they  had  been  sitting,  and  retreated 
precipitately  to  the  door. 

"  Lord !  "  exclaimed  John. 

"  I  might  ha'  knowed  it !  "  said  Job,  drawing  a  cross  in 
the  air  with  his  finger. 

"  An'  so  James  Button  wants  to  ax  ye  to  tak'  it  off, 
Peter,"  said  Old  Amos. 

"  To  take  what  off.?  " 

"  Why,  the  spell,  for  sure."  Hereupon  I  gave  free  play 
to  my  amusement,  and  laughed,  and  laughed,  while  the 
others  watched  me  with  varying  expressions. 

"  And  so  you  think  that  I  bewitched  Button's  pigs,  do 
you?  "  said  I,  at  last,  glancing  from  Old  Amos  to  the  per- 
spiring Apology  (who  immediately  began  to  mop  at  his 
face  and  neck  again).  "  And  why,"  I  continued,  seeing 
that  nobody  appeared  willing  to  speak,  "  why  should  you 
think  it  of  me?  " 

"  W'y,  Peter,  ye  bean't  like  ordinary  folk ;  your  eyes 
goes  through  an'  through  a  man.     An'  then,  Peter,  I  mind 


2  86  The  Broad  Highway 

as  you  come  a-walkin'  into  Siss'n'urst  one  night  from  Lord 
knows  wheer,  all  covered  wi'  dust,  an'  wi'  a  pack  on  your 
back." 

"  You  are  wrong  there,  Amos,"  said  I,  "  it  was  after- 
noon when  I  came,  and  the  Ancient  was  with  me." 

"Ah!  an'  wheer  did  'e  find  ye,  Peter.?  —  come,  speak 
up  an'  tell  us." 

"  In  the  Hollow,"  I  answered. 

"  Ay,  'e  found  'ee  in  the  very  spot  wheer  the  Wanderer 
o'  the  Roads  'ung  'isself,  sixty  an'  six  years  ago." 

"  There  is  nothing  very  strange  in  that !  "  said  I. 

"  What 's  more,  you  come  into  the  village  an'  beat  Black 
Jarge  throwin'  th'  'ammer,  an'  'im  the  strongest  man  in 
all  the  South  Country !  " 

"  I  beat  him  because  he  did  not  do  his  best  —  so  there 
is  nothing  strange  in  that  either." 

"  An'  then,  you  lives  all  alone  in  that  theer  ghashly 
'Oiler  —  an'  you  fights,  an'  struggles  wi'  devils  an'  de- 
mons, all  in  the  wind  an'  rain  an'  tearin'  tempest  —  an' 
what 's  most  of  all  —  you  comes  back  —  alive ;  an'  what 's 
more  yet,  wi'  devil-marks  upon  ye  an'  your  throat  all  tore 
wi'  claws.  Old  Gaffer  be  over  proud  o'  findin'  ye,  but  old 
Gaffer  be  dodderin'  —  dodderin'  'e  be,  an'  fulish  wi'  years ; 
'e  'd  ha'  done  much  better  to  ha'  left  ye  alone  —  I  've  heerd 
o'  folk  sellin'  theirselves  to  the  devil  afore  now,  I  've  hke- 
wise  heerd  o'  the  '  Evil  Eye  '  afore  now  —  ah !  an'  knows 
one  when  I  sees  it." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  I  sternly,  "  nonsense !  This  talk  of 
ghosts  and  devils  is  sheer  folly.  I  am  a  man,  like  the  rest 
of  you,  and  could  not  wish  you  ill  —  even  if  I  would  — 
come,  let  us  all  shake  hands,  and  forget  this  folly !  "  and 
I  extended  my  hand  to  Old  Amos. 

He  glanced  from  it  to  my  face,  and  immediately,  lower- 
ing his  eyes,  shook  his  head. 

"  'T  is  the  *  Evil  Eye' !  "  said  he,  and  drew  a  cross  upon 
the  floor  with  his  stick,  "  the  *  Evil  Eye' !  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  I  again ;  "  my  eye  is  no  more  evil 
than  yours  or  Job's.     I  never  wished  any  man  harm  yet, 


I  am  Suspected  of  the  Black  Art    287 

nor  wronged  one,  and  I  hope  I  never  may.  As  for  Mr. 
Dutton's  pigs,  if  he  take  better  care  of  them,  and  keep 
them  out  of  the  damp,  they  will  probably  thrive  better  than 
ever  —  come,  shake  hands !  " 

But,  one  by  one,  they  edged  their  way  to  the  door  after 
Old  Amos,  until  only  John  Pringle  was  left;  he,  for  a 
moment,  stood  hesitating,  then,  suddenly  reaching  out,  he 
seized  my  hand,  and  shook  it  twice. 

"  I  '11  call  for  they  'orseshoes  in  the  mamin',  Peter,"  said 
he,  and  vanished. 

"  Arter  all,"  I  heard  him  say,  as  he  joined  the  others, 
"  't  is  summat  to  ha'  shook  *ands  wi'  a  chap  as  fights  wi' 
demons !  " 


CHAPTER    XI 

A    SHADOW    IN    THE    HEDGE 

OvEE  the  uplands,  to  my  left,  the  moon  was  peeping  at 
me,  very  broad  and  yellow,  as  yet,  casting  long  shadows 
athwart  my  way.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of 
honeysuckle  abloom  in  the  hedges  —  a  warm,  still  air 
wherein  a  deep  silence  brooded,  and  in  which  leaf  fluttered 
not  and  twig  stirred  not;  but  it  was  none  of  this  I  held 
in  my  thoughts  as  I  strode  along,  whistling  softly  as  I 
went.  Yet,  in  a  while,  chancing  to  lift  my  eyes,  I  beheld 
the  object  of  my  reverie  coming  towards  me  through  the 
shadows. 

"  Why  —  Charmian !  "  said  I,  uncovering  my  head. 

"Why  — Peter!" 

"  Did  you  come  to  meet  me,-^  " 

"  It  must  be  nearly  nine  o'clock,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  had  to  finish  some  work." 

"  Did  any  one  pass  you  on  the  road.'*  " 

"  Not  a  soul." 

"  Peter,  have  you  an  enemy .''  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  unless  it  be  myself.  Epictetus 
says  somewhere  that  —  " 

"  Oh,  Peter,  how  dreadfully  quiet  everything  is !  "  said 
she,  and  shivered. 

"  Are  you  cold?  " 

"  No  —  but  it  is  so  dreadfully  —  still." 

Now  in  one  place  the  lane,  narrowing  suddenly,  led  be- 
tween high  banks  crowned  with  bushes,  so  that  it  was  very 
dark  there.  As  we  entered  this  gloom  Charmian  suddenly 
drew  closer  to  my  side  and  slipped  her  hand  beneath  my 


A  Shadow  in  the  Hedge       289 

arm  and  into  my  clasp,  and  the  touch  of  her  fingers  was 
like  ice. 

"  Your  hand  is  very  cold !  '*  said  I.  But  she  only 
laughed,  yet  I  felt  her  shiver  as  she  pressed  herself  close 
against  me. 

And  now  it  was  she  who  talked  and  I  who  walked  in 
silence,  or  answered  at  random,  for  I  was  conscious  only 
of  the  clasp  of  her  fingers  and  the  soft  pressure  of  hip 
and  shoulder. 

So  we  passed  through  this  place  of  shadows,  walking 
neither  fast  nor  slow,  and  ever  her  cold  fingers  clasped  my 
fingers,  and  her  shoulder  pressed  my  arm  while  she  talked, 
and  laughed,  but  of  what,  I  know  not,  until  we  had  left 
the  dark  place  behind.  Then  she  sighed  deeply  and  turned, 
and  drew  her  arm  from  mine,  almost  sharply,  and  stood 
looking  back,  with  her  two  hands  pressed  upon  her  bosom. 

"What  is  it.?" 

"  Look !  "  she  whispered,  pointing,  '*  there  —  where  it 
is  darkest  —  look !  "  Now,  following  the  direction  of  her 
finger,  I  saw  something  that  skulked  amid  the  shadows  — 
something  that  slunk  away,  and  vanished  as  I  watched. 

"  A  man !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  would  have  started  in  pur- 
suit, but  Charmian's  hands  were  upon  my  arm,  strong  and 
compelling. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  cried  she  angrily ;  "  would  you  give 
him  the  opportunity  I  prevented.'*  He  was  waiting  there 
to  —  to  shoot  you,  I  think !  " 

And,  after  we  had  gone  on  some  little  way,  I  spoke. 

"  Was  that  why  you  —  came  to  meet  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  —  kept  so  close  beside  me." 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure !  "  said  I,  and  walked  on  in  silence ; 
and  now  I  noticed  that  she  kept  as  far  from  me  as  the 
path  would  allow. 

"  Are  you  thinking  me  very  —  unmaidenly  again,  sir.?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  no." 

"  You  see,  I  had  no  other  way.     Had  I  told  you  that 


290  The  Broad  Highway 

there  was  a  man  hidden  in  the  hedge  you  would  have 
gone  to  look,  and  then  —  something  dreadful  would  have 
happened." 

"  How  came  you  to  know  he  was  there  ?  " 

"  Why,  after  I  had  prepared  supper  I  climbed  that  steep 
path  which  leads  to  the  road  and  sat  down  upon  the  fallen 
tree  that  lies  there,  to  watch  for  you,  and,  as  I  sat  there, 
I  saw  a  man  come  hurrying  down  the  road." 

"  A  very  big  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  tall  he  seemed,  and,  as  I  watched,  he  crept 
in  behind  the  hedge.  While  I  was  wondering  at  this,  I 
heard  your  step  on  the  road,  and  you  were  whistling." 

"  And  yet  I  seldom  whistle." 

"  It  was  you  —  I  knew  your  step." 

"  Did  you,  Charmian .''  " 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  not  interrupt,  sir." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I  humbly. 

"  And  then  I  saw  you  coming,  and  the  man  saw  you  too, 
for  he  crouched  suddenly ;  I  could  only  see  him  dimly  in 
the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  but  he  looked  murderous,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  if  you  reached  his  hiding-place  before 
I  did  —  something  terrible  would  happen,  and  so  —  " 

"  You  came  to  meet  me." 

«  Yes." 

"  And  walked  close  beside  me,  so  that  you  were  between 
me  and  the  shadow  in  the  hedge?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  thought  —  "I  began,  and  stopped. 

"  Well,  Peter.''  "  Here  she  turned,  and  gave  me  a  swift 
glance  beneath  her  lashes. 

"  —  that  it  was  because  —  you  were  —  perhaps  —  rather 
glad  to  see  me."  Charmian  did  not  speak ;  indeed  she  was 
so  very  silent  that  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  seen 
her  face  just  then,  but  the  light  was  very  dim,  as  I  have 
said,  moreover  she  had  turned  her  shoulder  towards  me. 
"  But  I  am  grateful  to  you,"  I  went  on,  "  very  grateful, 
and  —  it  was  very  brave  of  you !  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  she  answered  in  a  very  small  voice, 


A  Shadow  in  the  Hedge        291 

and  I  more  than  suspected  that  she  was  laughing  at 
me. 

"  Not,"  I  therefore  continued,  "  that  there  was  any  real 
danger." 

"What  do  you  mean.''"  she  asked  quickly. 

"  I  mean  that,  in  all  probability,  the  man  you  saw  was 
Black  George,  a  very  good  friend  of  mine,  who,  though 
he  may  imagine  he  has  a  grudge  against  me,  is  too  much 
of  a  man  to  lie  in  wait  to  do  me  hurt." 

"  Then  why  should  he  hide  in  the  hedge.''" 

"  Because  he  committed  the  mistake  of  throwing  the 
town  Beadle  over  the  churchyard  wall,  and  is,  consequently, 
in  hiding,  for  the  present." 

"  He  has  an  ill-sounding  name." 

"  And  is  the  manliest,  gentlest,  truest,  and  worthiest 
fellow  that  ever  wore  the  leather  apron." 

Seeing  how  perseveringly  she  kept  the  whole  breadth 
of  the  path  between  us,  I  presently  fell  back  and  walked 
behind  her;  now  her  head  was  bent,  and  thus  I  could  not 
but  remark  the  little  curls  and  tendrils  of  hair  upon  her 
neck,  whose  sole  object  seemed  to  be  to  make  the  white 
skin  more  white  by  contrast. 

"  Peter,"  said  she  suddenly,  speaking  over  her  shoulder, 
"  of  what  are  you  thinking?" 

"  Of  a  certain  steak  pasty  that  was  promised  for  my 
supper,"  I  answered  immediately,  mendacious. 

"Oh!" 

"  And  what,"  I  inquired,  "what  were  you  thinking.? " 

"  I  was  thinking,  Peter,  that  the  —  shadow  in  the  hedge 
may  not  have  been  Black  George,  after  all." 


CHAPTER   Xn 

WHO    COMES? 

"  This  table  wobbles  !  "  said  Charmian. 

"  It  does,"  said  I,  "  but  then  I  notice  that  the  block  is 
misplaced  again.'* 

"  Then  why  use  a  block?  " 

"  A  book  is  so  clumsy  —  "I  began. 

"  Or  a  book  ?  Why  not  cut  down  the  long  legs  to  match 
the  short  one?  " 

"  That  is  really  an  excellent  idea." 

"  Then  why  did  n't  you  before  ?  " 

"  Because,  to  be  frank  with  you,  it  never  occurred  to 
me." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  better  as  a  blacksmith  than  a  car- 
penter, are  n't  you,  Peter?  "  And,  seeing  I  could  find  no 
answer  worthy  of  retort,  she  laughed,  and,  sitting  down, 
watched  me  while  I  took  my  saw,  forthwith,  and  shortened 
the  three  long  legs  as  she  had  suggested.  Having  done 
which,  to  our  common  satisfaction,  seeing  the  moon  was 
rising,  we  went  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  the  cot- 
tage door. 

"  And —  are  you  a  very  good  blacksmith?  "  she  pursued, 
turning  to  regard  me,  chin  in  hand. 

"  I  can  swing  a  hammer  or  shoe  a  horse  with  any  smith 
in  Kent  —  except  Black  George,  and  he  is  the  best  in  all 
the  South  Country." 

"  And  is  that  a  very  great  achievement,  Peter  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  despicable  one." 

"  Are  you  quite  satisfied  to  be  able  to  shoe  horses  well, 
sir?" 


Who  Comes?  293 

"  It  is  far  better  to  be  a  good  blacksmith  than  a  bad 
poet  or  an  incompetent  prime  minister." 

"  Meaning  that  you  would  rather  succeed  in  the  little 
thing  than  fail  in  the  great?  " 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  smoke,"  said  I. 

"  Surely,"  she  went  on,  nodding  her  permission,  "  surely 
it  is  nobler  to  be  a  great  failure  rather  than  a  mean 
success?  " 

"  Success  is  very  sweet,  Charmian,  even  in  the  smallest 
thing;  for  instance,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the  cottage  door 
that  stood  open  beside  her,  "  when  I  built  that  door,  and 
saw  it  swing  on  its  hinges,  I  was  as  proud  of  it  as  though 
it  had  been  —  " 

"  A  really  good  door,"  interpolated  Charmian,  "  instead 
of  a  bad  one !  " 

"  A  bad  one,  Charmian  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  clumsy  door,  and  has  neither  bolt  nor 
lock." 

"  There  are  no  thieves  hereabouts,  and,  even  if  there 
were,  they  would  not  dare  to  set  foot  in  the  Hollow  after 
dark." 

"  And  then,  unless  one  close  it  with  great  care,  it  sticks 
—  very  tight !  " 

"  That,  obviating  the  necessity  of  a  latch,  is  rather  to 
be  commended,"  said  I. 

"  Besides,  it  is  a  very  ill-fitting  door,  Peter." 

"  I  have  seen  worse." 

"  And  will  be  very  draughty  in  cold  weather." 

"  A  blanket  hung  across  will  remedy  that." 

"  Still,  it  can  hardly  be  called  a  very  good  door,  can  it, 
Peter?  "  Here  I  lighted  my  pipe  without  answering.  "  I 
suppose  you  make  horseshoes  much  better  than  you  make 
doors?  "  I  puffed  at  my  pipe  in  silence.  "You  are  not 
angry  because  I  found  fault  with  your  door,  are  you, 
Peter?  " 

"  Angry?  "  said  I;    "  not  in  the  least." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that." 

"Why  sorry?" 


2  94  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Are  you  never  angry,  Peter?  " 

"  Seldom,  I  hope." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  so  —  just  once."  Finding 
nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  this,  I  smoked  my  negro-head 
pipe  and  stared  at  the  moon,  which  was  looking  down  at  us 
through  a  maze  of  tree-trunks  and  branches, 

"  Referring  to  horseshoes,"  said  Charmian  at  last,  "  are 
you  content  to  be  a  blacksmith  all  your  days  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am." 

"  Were  you  never  ambitious,  then  ?  " 

"  Ambition  is  like  rain,  breaking  itself  upon  what  it  falls 
on  —  at  least,  so  Bacon  says,  and  ' —  " 

"  Oh,  bother  Bacon !  Were  you  never  ambitious,  Peter.''  " 

"  I  was  a  great  dreamer." 

"  A  dreamer !  "  she  exclaimed  with  fine  scorn ;  "  are 
dreamers  ever  ambitious  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  they  are  the  most  truly  ambitious,"  I  retorted ; 
"  their  dreams  are  so  vast,  so  infinite,  so  far  beyond  all 
puny  human  strength  and  capacity  that  they,  perforce, 
must  remain  dreamers  always.     Epictetus  himself  —  " 

"  I  wish,"  sighed  Charmian,  "  I  do  wish  —  " 

"What  do  you  wish.?" 

"  That  you  were  not  —  " 

"  That  I  was  not.?  " 

"  Such  a  —  pedant !  " 

"  Pedant !  "  said  I,  somewhat  disconcerted. 

"  And  you  have  a  way  of  echoing  my  words  that  is  very 
irritating." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  feeling  much  like  a  chidden 
schoolboy ;  "  and  I  am  sorry  you  should  think  me  a 
pedant." 

"  And  you  are  so  dreadfully  precise  and  serious,"  she 
continued. 

"  Am  I,  Charmian  ?  " 

"  And  so  very  solemn  and  austere,  and  so  ponderous, 
and  egotistical,  and  calm  —  yes,  you  are  hatefully  calm 
and  placid,  are  n't  you,  Peter?  " 

And,  after  I  had  smoked  thoughtfully  awhile,  I  sighed. 


who  Comes?  295 

**  Yes,  I  fear  I  may  seem  so." 

"  Oh,  I  forgive  you !  " 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Though  you  need  n't  be  so  annoyingly  humble  about 
it,"  said  she,  and  frowned,  and,  even  while  she  frowned, 
laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  And  pray,  why  do  you  laugh .''  " 

"  Because  —  oh,  Peter,  you  are  such  a  —  boy !  " 

"  So  you  told  me  once  before,"  said  I,  biting  my  pipe- 
stem  viciously. 

"  Did  I,  Peter.?  " 

"  You  also  called  me  a  —  lamb,  I  remember  —  at  least, 
you  suggested  it." 

"  Did  I,  Peter  ?  "  and  she  began  to  laugh  again,  but 
stopped  all  at  once  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Peter !  "  said  she,  with  a  startled  note  in  her  voice, 
"don't  you  hear  something?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Some  one  is  coming !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  —  they  are  coming  this  way !  " 

"  Yes." 

"Oh  —  how  can  you  sit  there  so  quietly.''  Do  you 
think  —  "  she  began,  and  stopped,  staring  into  the  shadows 
with  wide  eyes, 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  knocking  the  ashes  from  my  pipe, 
and  laying  it  on  the  bench  beside  me,  "  tl^at,  all  things 
considered,  you  were  wiser  to  go  into  the  cottage  for  a 
while." 

"  No  —  oh,  I  could  n't  do  that !  " 

"  You  would  be  safer,  perhaps." 

"  I  am  not  a  coward.     I  shall  remain  here,  of  course." 

"  But  I  had  rather  you  went  inside." 

*'  And  I  much  prefer  staying  where  I  am." 

"  Then  I  must  ask  you  to  go  inside,  Charmian.** 

"  No,  indeed,  my  mind  is  made  up." 

"  Then  I  insist,  Charmian." 

"  Mr.  Vibart !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing  up  her  head. 


296  The  Broad  Highway 

"  you  forget  yourself,  I  think.  I  permit  no  one  to  order 
my  going  and  coming,  and  I  obey  no  man's  command." 

"  Then  —  I  beg  of  you." 

"  And  I  refuse,  sir  —  my  mind  is  made  up." 

"  And  mine  also !  "  said  I,  rising. 

"  Why,  what  —  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  cried, 
retreating  as  I  advanced  towards  her. 

"  I  am  going  to  carry  you  into  the  cottage." 

"  You  would  not  dare !  " 

"  If  you  refuse  to  walk,  how  else  can  you  get  there?  " 
said  I. 

Anger,  amazement,  indignation,  all  these  I  saw  in  her 
eyes  as  she  faced  me,  but  anger  most  of  all. 

"  Oh  —  you  would  not  dare !  "  she  said  again,  and  with 
a  stamp  of  her  foot. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  I  nodded.  And  now  her  glance  wavered 
beneath  mine,  her  head  drooped,  and,  with  a  strange  little 
sound  that  was  neither  a  laugh  nor  a  sob,  and  yet  some- 
thing of  each,  she  turned  upon  her  heel,  ran  into  the  cot- 
tage, and  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A    PEDLEE    IN    ARCADIA 

The  cottage,  as  I  have  said,  was  entirely  hidden  from  the 
chance  observer  by  reason  of  the  foliage:  ash,  alder,  and 
bramble  flourished  luxuriantly,  growing  very  thick  and 
high,  with  here  and  there  a  great  tree;  but,  upon  one  side, 
there  was  a  little  grassy  glade,  or  clearing  rather,  some 
ten  yards  square,  and  it  was  towards  this  that  my  eyes 
were  directed  as  I  reseated  myself  upon  the  settle  beside 
the  door,  and  waited  the  coming  of  the  unknown. 

Though  the  shadows  were  too  deep  for  my  eyes  to  serve 
me,  yet  I  could  follow  the  newcomer's  approach  quite  easily 
by  the  sound  he  made ;  indeed,  I  was  particularly  struck 
by  the  prodigious  rustling  of  leaves.  Whoever  it  was  must 
be  big  and  bulky,  I  thought,  and  clad,  probably,  in  a  long, 
trailing  garment. 

All  at  once  I  knew  I  was  observed,  for  the  sounds  ceased, 
and  I  heard  nothing  save  the  distant  bark  of  a  dog  and  the 
ripple  of  the  brook  near  by. 

I  remained  there  for,  maybe,  a  full  minute,  very  still, 
only  my  fists  clenched  themselves  as  I  sat  listening  and 
waiting  —  and  that  minute  was  an  hour. 

"  You  won't  be  wan  tin'  ever  a  broom,  now?  " 

The  relief  was  so  sudden  and  intense  that  I  had  much 
ado  to  keep  from  laughing  outright. 

"  You  won't  be  wan  tin'  ever  a  broom,  now.'* "  Inquired 
the  voice  again. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  *'  nor  yet  a  fine  leather  belt  with  a 
steel  buckle  made  in  Brummagem  as  ever  was." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  said  the  Pedler,  and  forthwith 


298  The  Broad  Highway 

Gabbing  Dick  stepped  out  of  the  shadows,  brooms  on 
shoulder  and  bulging  pack  upon  his  back,  at  sight  of  which 
the  leafy  tumult  of  his  approach  was  immediately  ac- 
counted for.  "  So  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated,  setting 
down  his  brooms  and  spitting  lugubriously  at  the  nearest 
patch  of  shadow. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  but  what  brings  you  here.''  " 

"  I  be  goin'  to  sleep  'ere,  my  chap." 

"  Oh!  —  you  don't  mind  the  ghost,  then?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no !  Theer  be  only  two  things  as  I  can't 
abide  —  trees  as  ain't  trees  is  one  on  em,  an'  women  's  t' 
other." 

"Women?" 

"  Come,  did  n't  I  once  tell  you  I  were  married  ?  " 

"  You  did." 

"  Very  well  then !  Trees  as  ain't  trees  is  bad  enough, 
Lord  knows  !  —  but  women  's  worse  —  ah !  "  said  the  Ped- 
ler,  shaking  his  head,  "  a  sight  worse !  Ye  see,  trees  ain't 
got  tongues  —  leastways  not  as  I  ever  heerd  tell  on,  an'  a 
tree  never  told  a  lie  —  or  ate  a  apple,  did  it?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  ate  an  apple  '  ?  " 

"  I  means  as  a  tree  can't  tell  a  lie,  or  eat  a  apple,  but 
a  woman  can  tell  a  lie  —  which  she  does  —  frequent,  an'  as 
for  apples  —  " 

"  But  —  "  I  began. 

"  Eve  ate  a  apple,  did  n't  she?  " 

"  The  Scriptures  say  so,"  I  nodded> 

"  An'  told  a  lie  arterwards,  did  n't  she?  " 

"  So  we  are  given  to  understand." 

"  Very  well  then !  "  said  the  Pedler,  "  there  y'  are !  "  and 
he  turned  to  spit  into  the  shadow  again.  "  Wot 's  more," 
he  continued,  "  't  were  a  woman  as  done  me  out  o'  my 
birthright." 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  't  were  Eve  as  got  us  druv  out  o'  the  Gardin  o' 
Eden,  were  n't  it  ?  If  it  'ad  n't  been  for  Eve  I  might  ha' 
been  livin'  on  milk  an'  'oney,  ah !  an'  playin'  wi'  butterflies, 
'stead   o'  bein'   married,   an'  peddlin'   these   'ere  brooms. 


A  Pedler  in  Arcadia  299 

Don't  talk  to  me  o'  women,  my  chap ;  I  can't  abide  'em  — 
bah !  if  theer  's  any  trouble  afoot  you  may  take  your  Bible 
oath  as  theer 's  a  woman  about  some'eres  —  theer  alius 
is !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  knows  so ;  ain't  I  a-'earin'  an'  a-seein'  such  all  day, 
an'  every  day  —  theer  's  Black  Jarge,  for  one." 

"What  about  him?" 

"  What  about  'im !  "  repeated  the  Pedler ;  "  w'y,  ain't 
'is  life  been  ruined,  broke,  wore  away  by  one  o'  them  Eves? 
—  very  well  then !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  —  how  has  his  life  been  ruined?  " 

"  Oh !  the  usual  way  of  it ;  Jarge  loves  a  gell  —  gell 
loves  Jarge  —  sugar  ain't  sweeter  —  very  well  then ! 
Along  comes  another  cove  —  a  strange  cove  —  a  cove  wi' 
nice  white  'ands  an'  soft,  takin'  ways  —  'e  talks  wi'  'er  — 
walks  wi'  'er  —  smiles  at  'er  —  an'  pore  Jarge  ain't  no- 
wheeres  —  pore  Jarge's  cake  is  dough  —  ah !  an'  doughy 
dough  at  that !  " 

"  How  do  you  come  to  know  all  this  ?  " 

"  'Ow  should  I  come  to  know  it  but  from  the  man  'isself  ? 

*  Dick,'  says  'e  "  (baptismal  name  Richard,  but  Dick  for 
short),  "  *  Dick,'  says  'e,  *  d'  ye  see  this  'ere  stick?  '  an'  'e 
shows  me  a  good,  stout  cudgel  cut  out  o'  th'  'edge,  an'  very 
neatly  trimmed  it  were  too.     '  Ah !  I  sees  it,  Jarge,'  says  I. 

*  An'  d'  ye  see  this  un  ?  '  says  'e,  'oldin'  up  another  as  like 
the  first  as  one  pea  to  its  fellow.  '  Ah !  I  sees  that  un  too, 
Jarge,'  says  I.  *  Well,'  says  Jarge,  '  one  's  for  'im  an' 
one  's  for  me  —  'e  can  take  'is  chice,'  'e  says,  *  an'  when  we 
do  meet,  it 's  a-goin'  to  be  one  or  t'  other  of  us,'  'e  says, 
an'  wot 's  more  —  'e  looked  it !  *  If  I  'ave  to  wait,  an'  wait, 
an'  foller  'im,  an'  foller  'im,'  says  Jarge,  '  I  '11  catch  'im 
alone,  one  o'  these  fine  nights,  an'  it  '11  be  man  to  man.'  " 

"  And  when  did  he  tell  you  all  this  ?  " 

"  'S  marnin'  as  ever  was." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  the  Pedler,  shaking  his  head,  "  not  by 
no  manner  o'  means.  I  'm  married,  but  I  ain't  that  kind 
of  a  cove !  " 


300  The  Broad  Highway 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  runners  is  arter  'im  —  lookin'  for  'im  'igh  an'  low, 
an'  —  though  married,  I  ain't  one  to  give  a  man  away.  I 
ain't  a  friendly  cove  myself,  never  was,  an'  never  shall  be 

—  never  'ad  a  friend  all  my  days,  an'  don't  want  one  — 
but  I  likes  Black  Jarge  —  I  pities,  an'  I  despises  'im." 

"  Why  do  you  despise  him?  " 

"  Because  'e  carries  on  so,  all  about  a  Eve  —  w'y,  theer 
ain't  a  woman  breathin'  as  is  worth  a  man's  troublin'  'is 
'ead  over,  no,  nor  never  will  be  —  yet  'ere  's  Black  Jarge 
ready  —  ah !  an'  more  than  willin'  to  get  'isself  'ung,  an' 
all  for  a  wench  —  a  Eve  —  " 

"  Get  himself  hanged.'*  "  I  repeated. 

"  Ah  —  'ung !  w'y,  ain't  'e  a-waitin'  an'  a-waitin'  to  get 
at  this  cove  —  this  cove  wi'  the  nice  white  'ands  an'  the 
takin'  ways,  ain't  'e  a-watchin'  an'  a-watchin'  to  meet  'im 
some  lonely  night  —  and  when  'e  do  meet  'im  —  "  The 
Pedler  sighed. 

"Well.?" 

"W'y,  there'll  be  blood  shed  —  blood!  —  quarts  on  it 

—  buckets  on  it !  Black  Jarge  '11  batter  this  'ere  cove's 
'ead  soft,  so  sure  as  I  were  baptized  Richard  —  'e  '11  lift 
this  cove  up  in  'is  great,  strong  arms,  an'  'e  '11  throw  this 
cove  down,  an'  'e  '11  gore  'im,  an'  stamp  'im  down  under  'is 
feet,  an'  this  cove's  blood  '11  go  soakin'  an'  a-soakin'  into 
the  grass,  some'eres  beneath  some  'edge,  or  in  some  quiet 
corner  o'  the  woods  —  and  the  birds  '11  perch  on  this  cove's 
breast,  an'  flutter  their  wings  in  this  cove's  face,  'cause 
they  '11  know  as  this  cove  can  never  do  nobody  no  'urt  no 
more ;   ah !   there  11  be  blood  —  gallons  of  it !  " 

"  I  hope  not !  "  said  I. 
"Ye  do,  do  ye.?" 
"  Most  fervently !  " 
"  An'  'cause  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  happen  to  be  that  cove,"  I  answered. 
"  Oh !  "    said   the   Pedler,    eyeing   me    more    narrowly ; 
'  you  are,  are  ye?  " 
"  I  am !  " 


A  Pedler  in  Arcadia  301 

"  Yet  you  ain't  got  w'ite  'ands." 

"  They  were  white  once,"  said  I. 

"  An'  I  don't  see  as  your  ways  is  soft  —  nor  yet  — 
takin' !  " 

"  None  the  less,  I  am  that  cove !  " 

"  Oh !  "  repeated  the  Pedler,  and,  having  turned  this 
intelligence  over  in  his  mind,  spat  thoughtfully  into  the 
shadow  again.  "  You  won't  be  wantin'  ever  a  broom,  I 
think  you  said?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Very  well  then ! "  he  nodded,  and,  lifting  his  brooms, 
made  towards  the  cottage  door ! 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  sleep  in  this  'ere  empty  'ut." 

"  But  it  is  n't  empty !  " 

"  So  much  the  better,"  nodded  the  Pedler,  "  good 
night !  "  and,  with  the  words,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
door,  but,  as  he  did  so,  it  opened,  and  Charmian  appeared. 
The  Pedler  fell  back  three  or  four  paces,  staring  with 
round  eyes. 

"  By  Goles  !  "  he  exclaimed.   "  So  you  are  married  then  ?  " 

Now,  when  he  said  this  I  felt  suddenly  hot  all  over,  even 
to  the  very  tips  of  my  ears,  and,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could 
not  have  looked  at  Charmian. 

"  Why  —  why  —  "I  began,  but  her  smooth,  soft  voice 
came  to  my  rescue. 

"  No  —  he  is  not  married,"  said  she,  "  far  from  it." 

"  Not  ?  "  said  the  Pedler,  "  so  much  the  better ;  mar- 
riage ain't  love,  no,  nor  love  ain't  marriage  —  I  'm  a  mar- 
ried cove  myself,  so  I  know  what  I  'm  a-sayin' ;  if  folk  do 
talk,  an'  shake  their  'eads  over  ye  —  w'y,  let  'em,  only 
don't  —  don't  go  a-spilin'  things  by  gettin'  *  churched.' 
You  're  a  woman,  but  you  're  a  fine  un  —  a  dasher,  by 
Goles,  nice  an'  straight-backed,  an'  round,  an'  plump  — 
if  I  was  this  'ere  cove,  now,  I  know  what  —  " 

"  Here,"  said  I  hastily,  "  here  —  sell  me  a  broom !  " 

The  Pedler  drew  a  broom  from  his  bundle  and  passed 
it  to  me. 


30  2  The  Broad  Highway 

**  One  shillin'  and  sixpence !  "  said  he,  which  sum  I  duly 
paid  over.  "  Don't,"  he  continued,  pocketing  the  money, 
and  turning  to  Charmian,  "  don't  go  spilin'  things  by 
lettin'  this  young  cove  go  a-marryin'  an'  a-churchin'  ye 
—  nobody  never  got  married  as  did  n't  repent  it  some 
time  or  other,  an'  wot 's  more,  when  Marriage  comes  in 
at  the  door.  Love  flies  out  up  the  chimbley  — an'  there  y' 
are !  Now,  if  you  loves  this  young  cove,  w'y,  very  good ! 
if  this  'ere  young  cove  loves  you  —  which  ain't  to  be 
wondered  at  —  so  much  the  better,  but  don't  —  don't  go 
a-marryin'  each  other,  an*  —  as  for  the  children  —  " 

"  Come  —  I  '11  take  a  belt  —  give  me  a  belt !  "  said  I, 
more  hastily  than  before. 

"  A  belt?  "  said  the  Pedler. 

«  A  belt,  yes." 

"  Wi'  a  fine  steel  buckle  made  in  —  " 

"  Yes  —  yes !  "  said  I. 

**  Two  shillin'  an'  sixpence !  "  said  the  Pedler. 

"  When  I  saw  you  last  time,  you  offered  much  the  same 
belt  for  a  shilling,"  I  demurred. 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  Pedler,  "  but  belts  is  riz  —  'arf-a- 
crown  's  the  price  —  take  it  or  leave  it." 

"  It 's  getting  late,"  said  I,  slipping  the  money  into  his 
hand,  "  and  I  '11  wish  you  good  night !  " 

"  You  're  in  a  'urry  about  it,  ain't  you  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Ah  —  to  be  sure !  "  nodded  the  fellow,  looking  from 
me  to  Charmian  with  an  evil  leer,  "  early  to  bed  an'  —  " 

"  Come  —  get  oflF !  "  said  I  angrily. 

**  Wot  —  are  ye  goin'  to  turn  me  away  —  at  this  time 
o'  night!" 

"  It  is  not  so  far  to  Sissinghurst !  "  said  I. 

"  But,  Lord !  I  would  n't  disturb  ye  —  an'  there  's  two 
rooms,  ain't  there.'*  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  comfortable  beds  to  be  had  at 
«  The  Bull.'  " 

"  So  you  won't  gi'e  me  a  night's  shelter,  eh?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  greatly  annoyed  by  the  fellow's 
persistence. 


A  Pedler  in  Arcadia  303 

"  An'  you  don't  want  to  buy  nothin'  for  the  young 
woman  —  a  necklace  —  or,  say  —  a  pair  o'  garters  ?  " 
But  here,  meeting  my  eye,  he  shouldered  his  brooms  hastily 
and  moved  off.  And,  after  he  had  gone  some  dozen  yards 
or  so,  he  paused  and  turned. 

"  Very  well  then !  "  he  shouted,  "  I  'opes  as  you  gets 
your  'ead  knocked  off  —  ah !  —  an'  gets  it  knocked  off  — 
soon ! "  Having  said  which,  he  spat  up  into  the  air 
towards  me,  and  trudged  off. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CONCERNING  BLACK  GEORGE's  LETTER 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  great  relief  that  I  watched  the 
fellow  out  of  sight ;  nevertheless  his  very  presence  seemed 
to  have  left  a  blight  upon  all  things,  for  he,  viewing  mat- 
ters with  the  material  eye  of  Common-sense,  had,  thereby, 
contaminated  them  —  even  the  air  seemed  less  pure  and 
sweet  than  it  had  been  heretofore,  so  that,  glancing  over 
my  shoulder,  I  was  glad  to  see  that  Charmian  had  re- 
entered the  cottage. 

"  Here,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  here  is  Common-sense  in 
the  shape  of  a  half-witted  peddling  fellow,  blundering  into 
Arcadia,  in  the  shape  of  a  haunted  cottage,  a  woman,  and 
a  man.  Straightway  our  Pedler,  being  Common-sense, 
misjudges  us  —  as,  indeed,  would  every  other  common- 
sense  individual  the  world  over;  for  Arcadia,  being  of  it- 
self abstract  and  immaterial,  is  opposed  to,  and  incapable 
of  being  understood  by  concrete  common-sense,  and  always 
will  be  —  and  there  's  the  rub !  And  yet,"  said  I,  "  thanks 
to  the  Wanderer  of  the  Roads,  who  built  this  cottage  and 
hanged  himself  here,  and  thanks  to  a  Highland  Scot  who 
performed  wonderfully  on  the  bagpipes,  there  is  little 
chance  of  any  common-sense  vagrant  venturing  near 
Arcadia  again  —  at  least  until  the  woman  is  gone,  or  the 
man  is  gone,  or  —  " 

Here,  going  to  rub  my  chin  (being  somewhat  at  a  loss), 
I  found  that  I  had  been  standing,  all  this  while,  the  broom 
in  one  hand  and  the  belt  in  the  other,  and  now,  hearing  a 
laugh  behind  me,  I  turned,  and  saw  Charmian  was  leaning 
in  the  open  doorway  watching  me. 


Black  George's    Letter         305 

"  And  so  you  are  the  —  the  cove  —  with  the  white 
hands  and  the  taking  ways,  are  you,  Peter?  " 

"  Why  —  you  were  actually  —  listening  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  was." 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  that  was  very  —  undignified  !  " 

"  But  very  —  feminine,  Peter !  "  Hereupon  I  threw 
the  belt  from  me  one  way,  and  the  broom  the  other,  and 
sitting  down  upon  the  bench  began  to  fill  my  pipe  — 
rather  awkwardly,  being  conscious  of  Charmian's  mocking 
scrutiny. 

"  Poor  —  poor  Black  George !  "  she  sighed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that.''  "  said  I  quickly. 

"  Really  I  can  almost  understand  his  being  angry  with 
you." 

"Why.?" 

"You  walked  with  her,  and  talked  with  her,  Peter  — 
like  Caesar,  '  you  came,  you  saw,  you  conquered  ' !  " 

Here  I  dragged  my  tinder-box  from  my  pocket  so  awk- 
wardly as  to  bring  the  lining  with  it. 

"  And  —  even  smiled  at  her,  Peter  —  and  you  so  rarely 
smile !  " 

Having  struck  flint  and  steel  several  times  without  suc- 
cess, I  thrust  the  tinder-box  back  into  my  pocket  and 
fixed  my  gaze  upon  the  moon. 

"  Is  she  so  very  pretty,  Peter.?  " 

I  stared  up  at  the  moon  without  answering. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  bother  her  with  your  Epictetus  and 
—  and  dry-as-dust  quotations  ?  " 

I  bit  my  lips  and  stared  up  at  the  moon. 

"  Or  perhaps  she  likes  your  musty  books  and  phi- 
losophy.? " 

But  presently,  finding  that  I  would  not  speak,  Charmian 
began  to  sing,  very  sweet  and  low,  as  if  to  herself,  yet, 
when  I  chanced  to  glance  towards  her,  I  found  her  mock- 
ing eyes  still  watching  me.  Now  the  words  of  her  song 
were  these: 

"  O,  my  luve  's  like  a  red,  red  rose. 
That 's  newly  sprung  in  June; 
O,  my  luve 's  like  the  melodie 
That 's  swfetly  played  in  tune." 


3o6  The  Broad  Highway 

And  so,  at  last,  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer,  I  rose 
and,  taking  my  candle,  went  into  my  room  and  closed  the 
door.  But  I  had  been  there  scarcely  five  minutes  when 
Charmian  knocked. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  —  please."  Obe- 
diently I  opened  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Charmian.''" 

"  You  dropped  this  from  your  pocket  when  you  took 
out  your  tinder-box  so  clumsily ! "  said  she,  holding 
towards  me  a  crumpled  paper.  And  looking  down  at  it, 
I  saw  that  it  was  Black  George's  letter  to  Prudence. 

Now,  as  I  took  it  from  her,  I  noticed  that  her  hand 
trembled,  while  in  her  eyes  I  read  fear  and  trouble;  and 
seeing  this,  I  was,  for  a  moment,  unwontedly  glad,  and 
then  wondered  at  myself. 

"You  —  did  not  read  it  —  of  course.?"  said  I,  well 
knowing  that  she  had. 

"  Yes,  Peter  —  it  lay  open,  and  —  " 

"  Then,"  said  I,  speaking  my  thought  aloud,  "  you 
know  that  she  loves  George." 

"  He  means  you  harm,"  said  she,  speaking  with  her 
head  averted,  "  and,  if  he  killed  you  —  " 

"  I  should  be  spared  a  deal  of  sorrow,  and  —  and  mor- 
tification, and  —  other  people  would  be  no  longer  bothered 
by  Epictetus  and  dry-as-dust  quotations."  She  turned 
suddenly,  and,  crossing  to  the  open  doorway,  stood  lean- 
ing there.  "  But,  indeed,"  I  went  on  hurriedly,  "  there  is 
no  chance  of  such  a  thing  happening  —  not  the  remotest. 
Black  George's  bark  is  a  thousand  times  worse  than  his 
bite ;  this  letter  means  nothing,  and  —  er  — nothing  at 
all,"  I  ended,  somewhat  lamely,  for  she  had  turned  and 
was  looking  at  me  over  her  shoulder. 

"  If  he  has  to  '  wait  and  wait,  and  follow  you  and  fol- 
low you  '  ?  "  said  she,  in  the  same  low  tone. 

"  Those  are  merely  the  words  of  a  half-mad  pedler," 
said  I. 

"  '  And  your  blood  will  go  soaking,  and  soaking  into  the 
grass  ' ! " 


Black  George's  Letter  307 

"  Our  Pedler  has  a  vivid  imagination !  "  said  I  lightly. 
But  she  shook  her  head,  and  turned  to  look  out  upon  the 
beauty  of  the  night  once  more,  while  I  watched  her,  chin 
in  hand. 

"  I  was  angry  with  you  to-night,  Peter,"  said  she  at 
length,  "  because  you  ordered  me  to  do  something  against 
my  will  —  and  I  —  did  it ;  and  so,  I  tried  to  torment  you 
—  you  will  forgive  me  for  that,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  nothing,  and  —  good 
night,  Charmian."  Here  she  turned,  and,  coming  to  me, 
gave  me  her  hand. 

"  Charmian  Brown  will  always  think  of  you  as  a  — " 

"  Blacksmith !  "  said  I. 

"  As  a  blacksmith !  "  she  repeated,  looking  at  me  with 
a  gleam  in  her  eyes,  "  but  oftener  as  a  —  " 

"Pedant!"  said  I. 

"  As  a  pedant !  "  she  repeated  obediently,  "  but  most 
of  all  as  a  —  " 

"Well.?"  said  I. 

"As  a  —  man,"  she  ended,  speaking  with  bent  head. 
And  here  again  I  was  possessed  of  a  sudden  gladness  that 
was  out  of  all  reason,  as  I  immediately  told  myself. 

"  Your  hand  is  very  small,"  said  I,  finding  nothing 
better  to  say,  "  smaller  even  than  I  thought." 

"  Is  it.''  "  and  she  smiled  and  glanced  up  at  me  beneath 
her  lashes,  for  her  head  was  still  bent. 

"  And  wonderfully  smooth  and  soft !  " 

**  Is  it?  "  said  she  again,  but  this  time  she  did  not  look 
up  at  me-  Now  another  man  might  have  stooped  and 
kissed  those  slender,  shapely  fingers  —  but,  as  for  me, 
I  loosed  them,  rather  suddenly,  and,  once  more  bidding 
her  good  night,  re-entered  my  own  chamber,  and  closed  the 
door. 

But  to-night,  lying  upon  my  bed,  I  could  not  sleep,  and 
fell  to  watching  the  luminous  patch  of  sky  framed  in  my 
open  casement.  I  thought  of  Charmian,  of  her  beauty, 
of  her  strange  whims  and  fancies,  her  swift-changing 
moods  and  her  contrariness,  comparing  her,  in  turn,  to 


3o8  The  Broad  Highway 

all  those  fair  women  I  had  ever  read  of  or  dreamed  over 
in  my  books.  Little  by  little,  however,  my  thoughts 
drifted  to  Gabbing  Dick  and  Black  George,  and,  with  my 
mind's  eye,  I  could  see  him  as  he  was  (perhaps  at  this  very 
moment),  fierce-eyed  and  grim  of  mouth,  sitting  beneath 
some  hedgerow,  while,  knife  in  hand,  he  trimmed  and 
trimmed  his  two  bludgeons,  one  of  which  was  to  batter  the 
life  out  of  me.  From  such  disquieting  reflections  I  would 
turn  my  mind  to  sweet-eyed  Prudence,  to  the  Ancient,  the 
forge,  and  the  thousand  and  one  duties  of  the  morrow. 
I  bethought  me,  once  more,  of  the  storm,  of  the  coming 
of  Charmian,  of  the  fierce  struggle  in  the  dark,  of  the 
Postilion,  and  of  Charmian  again.  And  yet,  in  despite  of 
me,  my  thoughts  would  revert  to  George,  and  I  would  see 
myself  even  as  the  Pedler  pictured  me,  out  in  some  se- 
cluded corner  of  the  woods,  lying  stiffly  upon  my  back  with 
glassy  eyes  staring  up  sightlessly  through  the  whispering 
leaves  above,  while  my  blood  soaked  and  soaked  into  the 
green,  and  with  a  blackbird  singing  gloriously  upon  my 
motionless  breast. 


CHAPTER    XV 

WHICH,   BEING   IN    PARENTHESIS,    MAY    BE   SKIPPED   IF 
THE    READER    SO    DESIRE 

As  this  life  is  a  Broad  Highway  along  which  we  must  all 
of  us  pass  whether  we  will  or  no ;  as  it  is  a  thoroughfare 
sometimes  very  hard  and  cruel  in  the  going,  and  beset 
by  many  hardships,  sometimes  desolate  and  hatefully  mo- 
notonous, so,  also,  must  its  aspect,  sooner  or  later,  change 
for  the  better,  and,  the  stony  track  overpassed,  the  chok- 
ing heat  and  dust  left  behind,  we  may  reach  some  green, 
refreshing  haven  shady  with  trees,  and  full  of  the  cool, 
sweet  sound  of  running  waters.  Then  who  shall  blame  us 
if  we  pause  unduly  in  this  grateful  shade,  and,  lying  upon 
our  backs  a  while,  gaze  up  through  the  swaying  green  of 
trees  to  the  infinite  blue  beyond,  ere  we  journey  on  once 
more,  as  soon  we  must,  to  front  whatsoever  of  good  or  evil 
lies  waiting  for  us  in  the  hazy  distance. 

To  just  such  a  place  am  I  now  come  in  this,  my  history ; 
the  record  of  a  period  which  I,  afterwards,  remembered  as 
the  happiest  I  had  ever  known,  the  memory  of  which  must 
remain  with  me,  green  and  fragrant  everlastingly. 

If,  in  the  forthcoming  pages,  you  shall  find  over-much 
of  Charmian,  I  would  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is 
by  her,  and  upon  her,  that  this  narrative  hangs ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  that  in  this  part  of  my  story  I  find  my 
greatest  pleasure;  though  here,  indeed,  I  am  faced  with 
a  great  difficulty,  seeing  that  I  must  depict,  as  faithfully 
as  may  be,  that  most  difficult,  that  most  elusive  of  aU 
created  things,  to  wit  —  a  woman. 


3IO  The  Broad  Highway 

Truly,  I  begin  to  fear  lest  my  pen  fail  me  altogether 
for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  of  Charmian  that  I  would 
tell,  and  of  Charmian  I  understand  little  more  than  noth- 
ing ;  for  what  rule  has  ever  been  devised  whereby  a  woman's 
mind  may  be  accurately  gauged,  and  who  of  all  those  wise 
ones  who  have  written  hitherto  —  poets,  romancers,  or  his- 
torians —  has  ever  fathomed  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
the  Mind  Feminine? 

A  fool  indeed  were  I  to  attempt  a  thing  impossible;  I 
do  but  seek  to  show  her  to  you  as  I  saw  her,  and  to  de- 
scribe her  in  so  far  as  I  learned  to  know  her. 

And  yet,  how  may  I  begin?  I  might  tell  you  that  her 
nose  was  neither  arched  nor  straight,  but  perfect,  none 
the  less;  I  might  tell  you  of  her  brows,  straight  and  low, 
of  her  eyes,  long  and  heavy-lashed,  of  her  chin,  firm  and 
round  and  dimpled ;  and  yet,  that  would  not  be  Charmian. 
For  I  could  not  paint  you  the  scarlet  witchery  of  her 
mouth  with  its  sudden,  bewildering  changes,  nor  show  you 
how  sweetly  the  lower  lip  curved  up  to  meet  its  mate.  I 
might  tell  you  tliat  to  look  into  her  eyes  was  like  gazing 
down  into  very  deep  water,  but  I  could  never  give  you 
their  varying  beauty,  nor  the  way  she  had  with  her  lashes ; 
nor  can  I  ever  describe  her  rich,  warm  coloring,  nor  the 
lithe  grace  of  her  body. 

Thus  it  is  that  I  misdoubt  my  pen  of  its  task,  and  fear 
that,  when  you  shall  have  read  these  pages,  you  shall,  at 
best,  have  caught  but  a  very  imperfect  reflection  of  Char- 
mian as  she  really  is. 

Wherefore,  I  will  waste  no  more  time  or  paper  upon 
so  unprofitable  a  task,  but  hurry  on  with  my  narrative, 
leaving  you  to  find  her  out  as  best  you  may. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

CONCERNING,  AMONG  OTHER   MATTERS,  THE  PRICE  OF   BEEF, 
AND   THE  LADY  SOPHIA  SEFTON  OF  CAMBOURNE 

Charmian  sighed,  bit  the  end  of  her  pen,  and  sighed  again. 
She  was  deep  in  her  housekeeping  accounts,  adding  and 
subtracting  and,  between  whiles,  regarding  the  result  with 
a  rueful  frown. 

Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  over  her  round,  white  arras, 
and  I  inwardly  wondered  if  the  much  vaunted  Phryne's 
were  ever  more  perfect  in  their  modelling,  or  of  a  fairer 
texture.  Had  I  possessed  the  genius  of  a  Praxiteles  I 
might  have  given  to  the  world  a  masterpiece  of  beauty 
to  replace  his  vanished  Venus  of  Cnidus ;  but,  as  it  hap- 
pened, I  was  only  a  humble  blacksmith,  and  she  a  fair 
woman  who  sighed,  and  nibbled  her  pen,  and  sighed  again. 

"What  is  it,  Charmian?" 

*'  Compound  addition,  Peter,  and  I  hate  figures  —  I 
detest,  loathe,  and  abominate  them  —  especially  when  they 
won't  balance ! " 

"  Then  never  mind  them,"  said  I. 

"  Never  mind  them,  indeed  —  the  idea,  sir !  How  can 
I  help  minding  them  when  living  costs  so  much  and  we 
so  poor,?  " 

"  Are  we?  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  of  course  we  are." 

"  Yes  —  to  be  sure  —  I  suppose  we  are,"  said  I  dreamily. 

Lais  was  beautiful,  Thais  was  alluring,  and  Berenice 
was  famous  for  her  beauty,  but  then,  could  either  of  them 
have  shown  such  arms  —  so  long,  so  graceful  in  their  every 


312  The  Broad  Highway 

movement,  so  subtly  rounded  in  their  lines,  arras  which, 
for  all  their  seeming  firmness,  must  (I  thought)  be  won- 
derfully soft  to  the  touch,  and  smooth  as  ivory,  and  which 
found  a  delicate  sheen  where  the  light  kissed  them? 

"  We  have  spent  four  shillings  for  meat  this  week, 
Peter !  "  said  Charraian,  glancing  up  suddenly. 

"Good!"  said  I. 

"  Nonsense,  sir  —  four  shillings  is  most  extravagant !  *' 

"Oh!  — is  it,  Charmian?" 

"  Why,  of  course  it  is." 

"  Oh !  "  said  I ;  "  yes  —  perhaps  it  is." 

"  Perhaps !  "  said  she,  curling  her  lip  at  me,  "  perhaps, 
indeed !  "  Having  said  which,  Charmian  became  absorbed 
in  her  accounts  again,  and  I  in  Charmian. 

In  Homer  we  may  read  that  the  loveliness  of  Briseis 
caused  Achilles  much  sorrow ;  Ovid  tells  us  that  Chione 
was  beautiful  enough  to  inflame  two  gods,  and  that  An- 
tiope's  beauty  drew  down  from  heaven  the  mighty  Jove 
himself;  and  yet,  was  either  of  them  formed  and  shaped 
more  splendidly  than  she  who  sat  so  near  me,  frowning 
at  what  she  had  written,  and  petulantly  biting  her  pen.'' 

"  Impossible !  "  said  I,  so  suddenly  that  Charmian  started 
and  dropped  her  pen,  which  I  picked  up,  feeling  very  like 
a  fool. 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  *  impossible,'  Peter?  " 

"  I  was  —  thinking  merely." 

"  Then  I  wish  you  would  n't  think  so  suddenly  next 
time." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Nor  be  so  very  emphatic  about  it." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  er  —  no."  Hereupon,  deigning  to  re- 
ceive her  pen  back  again,  she  recommenced  her  figuring, 
while  I  began  to  fill  my  pipe. 

"  Two  shillings  for  tea !  " 

"  Excellent !  "  said  I. 

"  I  do  wish,"  she  sighed,  raising  her  head  to  shake  it 
reproachfully  at  me,  "  that  you  would  be  a  little  more 
sensible." 


Concerning  Many  Matters      313 

« I  '11  try." 

"  Tea  at  twelve  shillings  a  pound  is  a  luxury ! " 

"  Undoubtedly !  " 

"  And  to  pay  two  shillings  for  a  luxury  when  we  are  so 
poor  —  is  sinful !  " 

"Is  it,  Charmian?" 

"  Of  course  it  is." 

"  Oh !  "  said  I ;  "  and  yet,  life  without  tea  —  more  espe- 
cially as  you  brew  it  —  would  be  very  stale,  flat,  and  un- 
profitable, and  —  " 

"  Bacon  and  eggs  —  one  shilling  and  fourpence !  "  she 
went  on,  consulting  her  accounts. 

"  Ah !  "  said  I,  not  venturing  on  "  good,"  this  time. 

"  Butter  —  one  shilling !  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  I  cautiously,  and  with  the  air  of  turning 
this  over  in  my  mind. 

"  Vegetables  —  tenpence !  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I,  nodding  my  head,  "  tenpence, 
certainly." 

"And  bread,  Peter  "  (this  in  a  voice  of  tragedy)  "  — 
eightpence." 

"  Excellent !  "  said  I  recklessly,  whereat  Charmian  im- 
mediately frowned  at  me. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  said  she,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation,  "  you 
possess  absolutely  no  idea  of  proportion.  Here  we  pay 
four  shillings  for  meat,  and  only  eightpence  for  bread; 
had  we  spent  less  on  luxuries  and  more  on  necessaries  we 
should  have  had  money  in  hand  instead  of  —  let  me  see !  '* 
and  she  began  adding  up  the  various  items  before  her  with 
soft,  quick  little  pats  of  her  fingers  on  the  table.  Pres- 
ently, having  found  the  total,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
and,  summoning  ray  attention  with  a  tap  of  her  pen, 
announced : 

"  We  have  spent  nine  shillings  and  tenpence,  Peter !  '* 

"  Good,  indeed !  "  said  I. 

"  Leaving  exactly  —  twopence  over." 

"  A  penny  for  you,  and  a  penny  for  me." 

"  I  fear  I  am  a  very  bad  housekeeper,  Peter." 


314  The  Broad  Highway 

"  On  the  contrary." 

"  You  earn  ten  shillings  a  week." 

"  Well?  " 

"  A^id  here  is  exactly  —  twopence  left  —  oh,  Peter !  " 

"  You  are  forgetting  the  tea  and  the  beef,  and  —  and 
the  other  luxuries,"  said  I,  struck  by  the  droop  of  her 
mouth. 

"  But  you  work  so  very,  very  hard,  and  earn  so  little  — 
and  that  little  —  " 

"  I  work  that  I  may  live,  Charraian,  and  lo !   I  am  alive." 

"  And  dreadfully  poor !  " 

"  And  ridiculously  happy." 

"  I  wonder  why.''  "  said  she,  beginning  to  draw  designs 
on  the  page  before  her. 

"  Indeed,  though  I  have  asked  myself  that  question  fre- 
quently of  late,  I  have  as  yet  found  no  answer,  unless  it 
be  my  busy,  care-free  life,  with  the  warm  sun  about  me 
and  the  voice  of  the  wind  in  the  trees." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  that  is  it." 

"  And  yet  I  don't  know,"  I  went  on  thoughtfully,  "  for 
now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  my  life  has  always  been  busy 
and  care-free,  and  I  have  always  loved  the  sun  and  the 
sound  of  wind  in  trees  —  yet,  like  Horace,  have  asked 
*  What  is  Happiness?  '  and  looked  for  it  in  vain ;  and 
now,  here  —  in  this  out-of-the-world  spot,  working  as  a 
village  smith,  it  has  come  to  me  all  unbidden  and  un- 
sought —  which  is  very  strange !  " 

"  Yes,  Peter,"  said  Charmian,  still  busy  with  her  pen. 

"  Upon  consideration  I  think  my  thanks  are  due  to  my 
uncle  for  dying  and  leaving  me  penniless." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  disinherited  you  ?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes ;  he  left  me  his  whole  fortune  provided 
that  I  married  a  certain  lady  within  the  year." 

"  A  certain  lady.''  " 

"  The  Lady  Sophia  Sefton,  of  Camboume,"  said  I. 

Charmian's  pen  stopped  in  the  very  middle  of  a  let- 
ter, and  she  bent  down  to  examine  what  she  had  been 
writing. 


Concerning  Many  Matters      315 

"  Oh !  "  said  she  very  softly,  "  the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton 
of  Camboume?  " 

«  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  And  —  your  cousin  —  Sir  Maurice  —  were  the  condi- 
tions the  same  in  his  case?  " 

"  Precisely !  " 

"Oh!"  said  Charmian,  jUst  as  softly  as  before,  "and 
this  lady  —  she  will  not  —  marry  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  Are  you  quite  —  sure  ?  " 

"  Certain !  —  you  see,  I  never  intend  to  ask  her." 

Charmian  suddenly  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Why  not,  Peter?  " 

"  Because,  should  I  ever  marry  —  a  remote  contingency, 
and  most  improbable  —  I  am  sufficiently  self-willed  to  prefer 
to  exert  my  own  choice  in  the  matter ;  moreover,  this  lady 
is  a  celebrated  toast,  and  it  would  be  most  repugnant  to 
me  that  my  wife's  name  should  ever  have  been  bandied 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  hiccoughed  out  over  slopping 
wineglasses  —  " 

The  pen  slipped  from  Charmian's  fingers  to  the  floor, 
and  before  I  could  pick  it  up  she  had  forestalled  me,  so 
that  when  she  raised  her  head  she  was  flushed  with 
stooping. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  lady,  Peter?  " 

"  Never,  but  I  have  heard  of  her  —  who  has  not  ?  " 

"What  have  you  heard?  " 

"  That  she  galloped  her  horse  up  and  down  the  steps 
of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  for  one  thing." 

"What  more?" 

"  That  she  is  proud,  and  passionate,  and  sudden  of 
temper  —  in  a  word,  a  virago !  " 

"  Virago  !  "  said  Charmian,  flinging  up  her  head. 

"  Virago !  "  I  nodded,  "  though  she  is  handsome,  I  un- 
derstand —  in  a  strapping  way  —  and  I  have  it  on  very 
excellent  authority  that  she  is  a  black-browed  goddess,  a 
peach,  and  a  veritable  plum." 

"  '  Strapping '  is  a  hateful  word,  Peter !  " 


3i6  The  Broad  Highway 

"  But  very  descriptive." 

"And  —  doesn't  she  interest  you — a  little,  Peter?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  I. 

"  And,  pray,  why  not?  " 

"  Because  I  care  very  little  for  either  peaches  or 
plums." 

"  Or  black-browed  goddesses,  Peter?  " 

"  Not  if  she  is  big  and  strapping,  and  possesses  a 
temper." 

"  I  suppose  —  to  such  a  philosopher  as  you  —  a  woman 
or  a  goddess,  black-browed  or  not,  can  scarcely  compare 
with,  or  hope  to  rival  an  old  book,  can  she,  sir?  " 

"  Why,  that  depends,  Charmian." 

"On  what?" 

"  On  the  book !  "  said  I. 

Charmian  rested  her  round  elbows  upon  the  table,  and, 
setting  her  chin  in  her  hands,  stared  squarely  at  me. 

"  Peter,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  Charmian?  " 

"  If  ever  you  did  meet  this  lady  —  I  think  —  " 

"Well?" 

"I  know  —  " 

"What?" 

"  That  you  would  fall  a  very  easy  victim ! " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I. 

"  You  would  be  her  slave  in  —  a  month  —  three  weeks 
—  or  much  less  —  " 

"  Preposterous  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  If  she  set  herself  to  make  you !  " 

"  That  would  be  very  immodest !  "  said  I ;  "  besides,  no 
woman  can  make  a  man  love  her." 

"  Do  your  books  teach  you  that,  Peter?  "  Here,  find- 
ing I  did  not  answer,  she  laughed  and  nodded  her  head  at 
me.  "  You  would  be  head  over  ears  in  love  before  you 
knew  it !  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I,  smiling. 

"  You  are  the  kind  of  man  who  would  grow  sick  with 
love,  and  never  know  what  ailed  him." 


Concerning  Many  Matters      317 

"  Any  man  in  such  a  condition  would  be  a  pitiful  ass !  " 
said  I. 

Charmian  only  laughed  at  me  again,  and  went  back  to 
her  scribbling. 

"  Then,  if  this  lady  married  you,"  said  she  suddenly, 
"  you  would  be  a  gentleman  of  good  position  and 
standing?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so  —  and  probably  miserable." 

"  And  rich,  Peter.?  " 

"  I  should  have  more  than  enough." 

"  Instead  of  being  a  village  blacksmith  —  " 

*'  With  just  enough,  and  absurdly  happy  and  content," 
I  added,  "  which  is  far  more  desirable  —  at  least  I  think 
so." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  rather  —  exist 
here,  and  make  horseshoes  all  your  life,  than  —  live,  re- 
spected, and  rich." 

"  And  married  to  —  " 

"  And  married  to  the  Lady  Sophia.'*  " 

"  Infinitely !  "  said  I. 

*'  Then  your  cousin,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  is  free 
to  woo  and  win  her  and  your  uncle's  fortune?  " 

*'  And  I  wish  him  well  of  his  bargain !  "  I  nodded.  "  As 
for  me,  I  shall  probably  continue  to  live  here,  and  make 
horseshoes  —  wifeless  and  content." 

"  Is  marriage  so  hateful  to  you  ?  " 

"  In  the  abstract  —  no ;  for  in  my  mind  there  exists  a 
woman  whom  I  think  I  could  love  —  very  greatly ;  but, 
in  the  actual  —  yes,  because  there  is  no  woman  in  all  the 
world  that  is  like  this  woman  of  my  mind." 

"  Is  she  so  flawlessly  perfect  —  this  imaginary  woman?  " 

**  She  is  one  whom  I  would  respect  for  her  intellect." 

«  Yes." 

"  Whom  I  would  honor  for  her  proud  virtue." 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"Whom  I  would  worship  for  her  broad  charity,  her 
gentleness,  and  spotless  purity." 

"  Yes,  Peter." 


3 1 8  The  Broad  Highway 

"  And  love  with  all  my  strength,  for  her  warm,  sweet 
womanhood  —  in  a  word,  she  is  the  epitome  of  all  that  is 
true  and  womanly  !  " 

"  That  is  to  say  —  as  you  understand  such  things,  sir, 
and  all  your  knowledge  of  woman,  and  her  virtues  and  fail- 
ings, you  have  learned  from  your  books,  therefore,  mis- 
represented by  history,  and  distorted  by  romance,  it  is 
utterly  false  and  unreal.  And,  of  course,  this  imaginary 
creature  of  yours  is  ethereal,  bloodless,  sexless,  unnatural, 
and  quite  impossible !  " 

Now,  when  she  spoke  thus,  I  laid  down  my  pipe  and 
stared,  but,  before  I  could  get  my  breath,  she  began  again, 
with  curling  lip  and  lashes  that  drooped  disdainfully. 

"  I  quite  understand  that  there  can  be  no  woman  worthy 
of  Mr.  Peter  Vibart  —  she  whom  he  would  honor  with 
marriage  must  be  specially  created  for  him !  Ah !  but  some 
day  a  woman  —  a  real,  live  woman  —  will  come  into  his 
life,  and  the  touch  of  her  hand,  the  glance  of  her  eyes,  the 
warmth  of  her  breath,  will  dispel  this  poor,  flaccid,  misty 
creature  of  his  imagination,  who  will  fade  and  fade,  and 
vanish  into  nothingness.  And  when  the  real  woman  has 
shown  him  how  utterly  false  and  impossible  this  dream 
woman  was  —  then,  Mr.  Peter  Vibart,  I  hope  she  will  laugh 
at  you  —  as  I  do,  and  turn  her  back  upon  you  —  as  I  do, 
and  leave  you  —  for  the  very  superior,  very  pedantic 
pedant  that  you  are  —  and  scorn  you  —  as  I  do,  most  of 
all  because  you  are  merely  a  —  creature !  "  With  the  word, 
she  flung  up  her  head  and  stamped  her  foot  at  me,  and 
turning,  swept  out  through  the  open  door  into  the 
moonlight. 

"Creature.''"  said  I,  and  so  sat  staring  at  the  table, 
and  the  walls,  and  the  floor,  and  the  rafters  in  a  blank 
amazement. 

But  in  a  while,  my  amazement  growing,  I  went  and 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  at  Charmian,  but  saying 
nothing. 

And,  as  I  watched,  she  began  to  sing  softly  to  herself, 
and,  putting  up  her  hand,  drew  the  comb  from  her  hair  so 


Concerning  Many  Matters     319 

that  it  fell  down,  rippling  about  her  neck  and  shoulders. 
And,  singing  softly  thus,  she  shook  her  hair  about  her,  so 
that  I  saw  it  curled  far  below  her  waist ;  stooped  her  head, 
and,  parting  it  upon  her  neck,  drew  it  over  either  shoulder, 
whence  it  flowed  far  down  over  her  bosom  in  two  glorious 
waves,  for  the  moon,  peeping  through  the  rift  in  the  leaves 
above,  sent  down  her  beams  to  wake  small  fires  in  it,  that 
came  and  went,  and  winked  with  her  breathing. 

"  Charmian,  you  have  glorious  hair !  "  said  I,  speaking 
on  the  impulse  —  a  thing  I  rarely  do. 

But  Charmian  only  combed  her  tresses,  and  went  on  sing- 
ing to  herself. 

"  Charmian,"  said  I  again,  "  what  did  you  mean  when 
you  called  me  a  —  creature  ?  " 

Charmian  went  on  singing. 

"  You  called  me  a  '  pedant '  once  before ;  to  be  told  that 
I  am  superior,  also,  is  most  disquieting.  I  fear  my  manner 
must  be  very  unfortunate  to  afford  you  such  an  opinion 
of  me.'* 

Charmian  went  on  singing. 

"  Naturally  I  am  much  perturbed,  and  doubly  anxious 
to  know  what  you  wish  me  to  understand  by  the  epithet 
'  creature ' ?  " 

Charmian  went  on  singing.  Wherefore,  seeing  she  did 
not  intend  to  answer  me,  I  presently  re-entered  the  cottage. 

Now  it  is  ever  my  custom,  when  at  all  troubled  or  put 
out  in  any  way,  to  seek  consolation  in  my  books,  hence,  I 
now  took  up  my  Homer,  and,  trimming  the  candles,  sat 
down  at  the  table. 

In  a  little  while  Charmian  came  in,  still  humming  the  air 
of  her  song,  and  not  troubling  even  to  glance  in  my 
direction. 

Some  days  before,  at  her  request,  I  had  brought  her 
linen  and  lace  and  ribands  from  Cranbrook,  and  these  she 
now  took  out,  together  with  needle  and  cotton,  and,  sitting 
down  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  began  to  sew. 

She  was  still  humming,  and  this  of  itself  distracted  my 
mind  from  the  lines  before  me ;  moreover,  my  eye  was  fas- 


3  20  The  Broad  Highway 

cinated  by  the  gleam  of  her  flying  needle,  and  I  began  to 
debate  within  myself  what  she  was  making.  It  (whatever 
it  might  be)  was  ruffled,  and  edged  with  lace,  and  caught 
here  and  there  with  little  bows  of  blue  riband,  and,  from 
these,  and  divers  other  evidences,  I  had  concluded  it  to  be 
a  garment  of  some  sort,  and  was  casting  about  in  my  mind 
to  account  for  these  bows  of  riband,  when,  glancing  up 
suddenly,  she  caught  my  eye;  whereupon,  for  no  reason 
in  the  world,  I  felt  suddenly  guilty,  to  hide  which  I  began 
to  search  through  my  pockets  for  my  pipe. 

"  On  the  mantelshelf !  "  said  she. 

"What  is?" 

"  Your  pipe !  " 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  I,  and  reached  it  down. 

"  What  are  you  reading?  "  she  inquired;  "  is  it  of  Helen 
or  Aspasia  or  Phryne?  " 

"  Neither  —  it  is  the  parting  of  Hector  and  Andro- 
mache," I  answered. 

"  Is  it  very  interesting?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  do  your  eyes  wander  so  often  from  the 
page?  " 

"  I  know  many  of  the  lines  by  heart,"  said  I.  And  hav- 
ing lighted  my  pipe,  I  took  up  the  book,  and  once  more 
began  to  read.  Yet  I  was  conscious,  all  the  time,  of  Char- 
mian's  flashing  needle,  also  she  had  begun  to  hum  again. 

And,  after  I  had  endeavored  to  read,  and  Charmian  had 
hummed  for  perhaps  five  minutes,  I  lowered  my  book,  and, 
sighing,  glanced  at  her. 

"  I  am  trying  to  read,  Charmian." 

"  So  I  see." 

*'  And  your  humming  confuses  me." 

"  It  is  very  quiet  outside,  Peter." 

"  But  I  cannot  read  by  moonlight,  Charmian." 

"  Then  —  don't  read,  Peter."  Here  she  nibbled  her 
thread  with  white  teeth,  and  held  up  what  she  had  been 
sewing  to  view  the  effect  of  a  bow  of  riband,  with  her 
head  very  much  on  one  side.     And  I  inwardly  wondered 


Concerning  Many  Matters      321 

that  she  should  spend  so  much  care  upon  such  frippery 
—  all  senseless  bows  and  laces. 

"  To  hum  is  a  very  disturbing  habit !  "  said  I. 

"  To  smoke  an  evil-smelling  pipe  is  worse  —  much 
worse,  Peter ! " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  said  I,  and  laid  the  offending 
object  back  upon  the  mantel. 

"  Are  you  angry,  Peter.''  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  I  am  only  sorry  that  my  smoking 
annoyed  you  —  had  I  known  before  —  '* 

"  It  did  n't  annoy  me  in  the  least !  '* 

"  But  from  what  you  said  I  understood  —  " 

"  No,  Peter,  you  did  not  understand ;  you  never  un- 
derstand, and  I  don't  think  you  ever  will  understand  any- 
thing but  your  Helens  and  Phrynes  —  and  your  Latin 
and  Greek  philosophies,  and  that  is  what  makes  you  so 
very  annoying,  and  so  —  so  quaintly  original !  " 

"  But  you  certainly  found  fault  with  my  pipe." 

"  Naturally !  —  did  n't  you  find  fault  with  my  hum- 
ming.? " 

"  Really,"  said  I,  "  really,  I  fail  to  see  —  " 

"  Of  course  you  do !  "  sighed  Charmian.  Whereupon 
there  fell  a  silence  between  us,  during  which  she  sewed 
industriously,  and  I  went  forth  with  brave  Hector  to  face 
the  mighty  Achilles.  But  my  eye  had  traversed  barely 
twenty  lines  when: 

"Peter?" 

"Yes.?" 

"  Do  you  remember  my  giving  you  a  locket  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Where  is  it.?" 

"  Oh !    I  have  it  still  —  somewhere." 

"  Somewhere,  sir?  "  she  repeated,  glancing  at  me  with 
raised  brows. 

"  Somewhere  safe,"  said  I,  fixing  my  eyes  upon  my 
book. 

"It  had  a  riband  attached,  hadn't  it?" 

«  Yes." 


32  2  The  Broad  Highway 

"  A  pink  riband,  if  I  remember  —  yes,  pink." 

"  No  —  it  was  blue !  "  said  I  unguardedly. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Peter? "  And  here,  glancing  up,  I 
saw  that  she  was  watching  me  beneath  her  lashes. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered ;  "  that  is  —  I  think  so." 

"  Then  you  are  not  sure.?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  I ;  "it  was  a  blue  riband,"  and  I 
turned  over  a  page  very  ostentatiously. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Charmian,  and  there  was  another  pause, 
during  which  I  construed  probably  fifty  lines  or  so. 

"Peter.?" 

"Well.?" 

"Where  did  you  say  it  was  now  —  my  locket.?" 

**  I  did  n't  say  it  was  anywhere." 

*'  No,  you  said  it  was  '  somewhere  '  —  in  a  rather  vague 
sort  of  way,  Peter." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  did,"  said  I,  frowning  at  my  book. 

"  It  is  not  very  valuable,  but  I  prized  it  for  associa- 
tion's sake,  Peter." 

"  Ah !  —  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  I,  feigning  to  be  wholly 
absorbed. 

"  I  was  wondering  if  you  ever  —  wear  it,  Peter.?  " 

"  Wear  it !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  glancing  furtively  down 
at  myself,  I  was  relieved  to  see  that  there  were  no  signs 
of  a  betraying  blue  riband ;  "  wear  it !  "  said  I  again, 
"  why  should  I  wear  it.?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,  Peter,  unless  it  was  because  it  was  there 
to  wear."  Suddenly  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  an- 
noyance, and,  taking  up  a  candle,  began  looking  about 
the  floor. 

"What  have  you  lost.?" 

"  My  needle !  I  think  it  must  have  fallen  under  the  table, 
and  needles  are  precious  in  this  wilderness ;  won't  you 
please  help  me  to  find  it .?  " 

"  With  pleasure !  "  said  I,  getting  down  upon  my  hands 
and  knees,  and  together  we  began  to  hunt  for  the  lost 
needle. 

Now,  in  our  search,  it  chanced  that  we  drew  near  to- 


Concerning  Many  Matters     323 

gether,  and  once  her  hand  touched  mine,  and  once  her  soft 
hair  brushed  my  cheek,  and  there  stole  over  me  a  perfume 
like  the  breath  of  violets,  the  fragrance  that  I  always 
associated  with  her,  faint  and  sweet  and  alluring  —  so 
much  so,  that  I  drew  back  from  further  chance  of  contact, 
and  kept  my  eyes  directed  to  the  floor. 

And,  after  I  had  sought  vainly  for  some  time,  I  raised 
my  head  and  looked  at  Charmian,  to  find  her  regarding 
me  with  a  very  strange  expression. 

"  What  is  it.'' "  I  inquired.  "  Have  you  found  the 
needle.''  "  Charmian  sat  back  on  her  heels,  and  laughed 
softly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  've  found  the  needle,  Peter,  that  is  —  I 
never  lost  it." 

"  Why,  then  —  what  —  what  did  you  mean  —  ?  " 

For  answer,  she  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  to  my 
breast.  Then,  glancing  hurriedly  down,  I  saw  that  the 
locket  had  slipped  forward  through  the  bosom  of  my  shirt, 
and  hung  in  plain  view.  I  made  an  instinctive  movement 
to  hide  it,  but,  hearing  her  laugh,  looked  at  her  instead. 

"  So  this  was  why  you  asked  me  to  stoop  to  find  your 
needle.?  " 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"Then  you  — knew.?" 

"  Of  course  I  knew." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I.  A  distant  clock  chimed  eleven,  and 
Charmian  began  to  fold  away  her  work,  seeing  which,  I 
rose,  and  took  up  my  candle.     "  And  —  pray  —  " 

"Well.?" 

"  And,  pray,"  said  I,  staring  hard  at  the  flame  of  my 
candle,  "  how  did  you  happen  to  —  find  out  —  ?  " 

"  Very  simply  —  I  saw  the  riband  round  your  neck 
days  ago.     Good  night,  Peter !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  I.    "  Good  night !  " 


CHAPTER    XVn 

THE    OMEN 

"  My  lady  sweet,  arise  ! 
My  lady  sweet,  arise 
With  everything  that  pretty  is, 
My  lady  sweet,  arise; 
Arise,  arise." 

It  was  morning,  and  Charmian  was  singing.  The  pure, 
rich  notes  floated  in  at  my  open  lattice,  and  I  heard 
the  clatter  of  her  pail  as  she  went  to  fetch  water  from  the 
brook.  Wherefore  I  presently  stepped  out  into  the  sun- 
shine, my  coat  and  neckcloth  across  my  arm,  to  plunge  my 
head  and  face  into  the  brook,  and  carry  back  the  heavy 
bucket  for  her,  as  was  my  custom. 

Being  come  to  the  brook  I  found  the  brimming  bucket, 
sure  enough,  but  no  Charmian.  I  was  looking  about  won- 
deringly,  when  she  began  to  sing  again,  and,  guided  by 
this,  I  espied  her  kneeling  beside  the  stream. 

The  water  ran  deep  and  very  still,  just  here,  overhung 
by  ash  and  alder  and  willow,  whose  slender,  curving 
branches  formed  a  leafy  bower  wherein  she  half  knelt, 
half  sat,  bending  over  to  regard  herself  in  the  placid  water. 
For  a  long  moment  she  remained  thus,  studying  her  re- 
flection intently  in  this  crystal  mirror,  and  little  by  little 
her  song  died  away.  Then  she  put  up  her  hands  and 
began  to  rearrange  her  hair  with  swift,  dexterous  fingers, 
apostrophizing  her  watery  image  the  while,  in  this  wise: 

*'  My  dear,  you  are  growing  positively  apple-cheeked 
—  I  vow  you  are !  your  enemies  might  almost  call  you  — 
strapping  —  alack !  And  then  your  complexion,  my  dear, 
your  adorable  complexion !  "  she  went  on,  with  a  rueful 


The  Omen  325 

shake  of  her  head,  "  you  are  as  brown  as  a  gipsy  —  not 
that  you  need  go  breaking  your  heart  over  it  —  for,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  my  dear,  I  think  it  rather  improves 
you ;  the  pity  of  it  is  that  you  have  no  one  to  appreciate 
you  properly  —  to  render  to  your  charms  the  homage 
they  deserve,  no  one  —  not  a  soul,  my  dear ;  your  hermit, 
bless  you !  can  see,  or  think,  of  nothing  that  exists  out  of 
a  book  —  which,  between  you  and  me  and  the  bucket  yon- 
der, is  perhaps  just  as  well  —  and  yet  —  heigho  !  To  be 
so  lovely  and  so  forlorn !  indeed,  I  could  shed  tears  for 
you  if  it  would  not  make  your  eyelids  swell  and  your  classic 
nose  turn  red." 

Here  she  sighed  again,  and,  taking  a  tendril  of  hair 
between  her  fingers,  transformed  it,  very  cleverly,  into  a 
small  curl. 

"  Yes,  your  tan  certainly  becomes  you,  my  dear,"  she 
went  on,  nodding  to  her  reflection ;  "  not  that  he  will  ever 
notice  —  dear  heart,  no !  were  you  suddenly  to  turn  as 
black  as  a  Hottentot  —  before  his  very  eyes  —  he  would 
go  on  serenely  smoking  his  pipe,  and  talk  to  you  of 
Epictetus  —  heigho !  "  Sighing  thus,  she  broke  off  a 
spray  of  leaves  and  proceeded  to  twine  them  in  among  the 
lustrous  coils  of  her  hair,  bending  over  her  reflection 
meanwhile,  and  turning  her  head  this  way  and  that,  to 
note  the  eff'ect. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  at  last,  nodding  at  her  image  with  a 
satisfied  air,  "  that  touch  of  green  sets  off'  your  gipsy 
complexion  admirably,  my  dear  —  I  could  positively  kiss 
you  —  I  vow  I  could,  and  I  am  hard  to  please.  St.  An- 
thony himself,  meeting  you  alone  in  the  desert,  would,  at 
least,  have  run  away  from  you,  and  that  would  have  been 
some  tribute  to  your  charms,  but  our  philosopher  will 
just  glance  at  you  with  his  slow,  grave  smile,  and  tell  you, 
in  his  solemn,  affable  way  —  that  it  is  a  very  fine  morning 
—  heigho !  " 

Here  (somewhat  late  in  the  day,  perhaps)  perceiving 
that  I  was  playing  eavesdropper,  I  moved  cautiously  away, 
and  taking  up  the  pail,  returned  to  the  cottage.     I  now 


326  The  Broad  Highway 

filled  the  kettle  and  set  it  upon  the  fire,  and  proceeded  to 
spread  the  cloth  (a  luxurious  institution  of  Charraian's, 
on  which  she  insisted)  and  to  lay  out  the  breakfast  things. 
In  the  midst  of  which,  however,  chancing  to  fall  into  a 
reverie,  I  became  oblivious  of  all  things  till  roused  by  a 
step  behind  me,  and,  turning,  beheld  Charmian  standing 
with  the  glory  of  the  sun  about  her  —  like  the  Spirit  of 
Summer  herself,  broad  of  hip  and  shoulder,  yet  slender, 
and  long  of  limb,  all  warmth  and  life,  and  long,  soft  curves 
from  throat  to  ankle  —  perfect  with  vigorous  youth  from 
the  leaves  that  crowned  her  beauty  to  the  foot  that  showed 
beneath  her  gown. 

And,  as  I  gazed  upon  her,  silent  and  wondering,  lo! 
though  her  mouth  was  solemn  yet  there  was  laughter  in 
her  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Well,  sir  —  have  you  no  greeting  for  me.''  " 

"It  —  is  a  —  very  fine  morning !  "  said  I.     And  now 
the  merriment  overflowed  her  eyes,  and  she  laughed,  yet 
blushed  a  little,  too,  and  lowered  her  eyes  from  mine,  and 
said,  still  laughing: 
'     "  Oh,  Peter  —  the  teapot  —  do  mind  the  teapot !  " 

"  Teapot ,''  "  I  repeated,  and  then  I  saw  that  I  still  held 
it  in  my  hand. 

"  Pray,  sir  —  what  might  you  be  going  to  do  with  the 
teapot  in  one  hand,  and  that  fork  in  the  other.''  " 

"  I  was  going  to  make  the  tea,  I  remember,"  said  I. 

"  Is  that  why  you  were  standing  there  staring  at  the 
kettle  while  it  boiled  over.?  " 

"I  —  forgot  all  about  the  kettle,"  said  I.  So  Charmian 
took  the  teapot  from  me,  and  set  about  brewing  the  tea, 
singing  merrily  the  while.  Anon  she  began  to  fry  the 
bacon,  giving  each  individual  slice  its  due  amount  of  care 
and  attention ;  but,  her  eyes  chancing  to  meet  mine,  the 
song  died  upon  her  lip,  her  lashes  flickered  and  fell,  while 
up  from  throat  to  brow  there  crept  a  slow,  hot  wave  of 
crimson.  And  in  that  moment  I  turned  away  and  strode 
down  to  the  brook. 

Now  it  happened  that  I  came  to  that  same  spot  where 


The  Omen  327 

she  had  leaned  and,  flinging  myself  down,  I  fell  to  study- 
ing my  reflection  in  the  water,  even  as  she  had  done. 

Heretofore,  though  I  had  paid  scant  heed  to  my  appear- 
ance, I  had  been  content  (in  a  certain  impersonal  sort  of 
way),  had  dressed  in  the  fashion,  and  taken  advantage 
of  such  adornments  as  were  in  favor,  as  much  from  habit 
as  from  any  set  design;  but  now,  lying  beside  the  brook 
with  my  chin  propped  in  my  hands,  I  began  to  study  myself 
critically,  feature  by  feature,  as  I  had  never  dreamed  of 
doing  before. 

Mirrored  in  the  clear  waters  I  beheld  a  face  lean  and 
brown,  and  with  lank,  black  hair;  eyes,  dark  and  of  a 
strange  brilliance,  looked  at  me  from  beneath  a  steep 
prominence  of  brow ;  I  saw  a  somewhat  high-bridged  nose 
with  thin,  nervous  nostrils,  a  long,  cleft  chin,  and  a  dis- 
dainful mouth. 

Truly,  a  saturnine  face,  cold  and  dark  and  unlovely, 
and  thus  —  even  as  I  gazed  —  the  mouth  grew  still  more 
disdainful,  and  the  heavy  brow  lowered  blacker  and  more 
forbidding.  And  yet,  in  that  same  moment,  I  found  myself 
sighing,  while  I  strove  to  lend  some  order  to  the  wildness 
of  my  hair. 

"  Fool ! "  said  I,  and  plunged  my  head  beneath  the 
water,  and  held  it  there  so  long  that  I  came  up  puffing  and 
blowing ;  whereupon  I  caught  up  the  towel  and  fell  to  rub- 
bing myself  vigorously,  so  that  presently,  looking  down 
into  the  water  again,  I  saw  that  my  hair  was  wilder  than 
ever  —  all  rubbed  into  long  elf-locks.  Straightway  I  Ufted 
my  hands,  and  would  have  smoothed  it  somewhat,  but 
checked  the  impulse. 

"  Let  be,"  said  I  to  myself,  turning  away,  "  let  be.  I 
am  as  I  a,m,  and  shall  be  henceforth  in  very  truth  a  village 
blacksmith  —  and  content  so  to  be  —  absolutely  content." 

At  sight  of  me  Charmian  burst  out  laughing,  the  which, 
though  I  had  expected  it,  angered  me  nevertheless. 

"  Why,  Peter !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  look  like  —  " 

"  A  very  low  fellow !  "  said  I,  "  say  a  village  blacksmith 
who  has  been  at  his  ablutions." 


328  The  Broad  Highway 

"  If  you  only  had  rings  in  your  ears,  and  a  scarf  round 
your  head,  you  would  be  the  image  of  a  Spanish  brigand 
—  or  like  the  man  Mina  whose  exploits  The  Gazette  is  full 
of  —  a  Spanish  general,  I  think." 

"  A  guerrilla  leader,"  said  I,  taking  my  place  at  the 
table,  "  and  a  singularly  cold-blooded  villain  —  indeed  I 
think  it  probable  that  we  much  resemble  one  another;  is 
it  any  wonder  that  I  am  shunned  by  my  kind  —  avoided  by 
the  ignorant  and  regarded  askance  by  the  rest?  " 

"  Why,  Peter ! "  said  Charmian,  regarding  me  with 
grave  eyes,  "  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  the  country  folk  hereabout  go  out  of  their 
way  to  avoid  crossing  my  path  —  not  that,  I  suppose,  they 
ever  heard  of  Mina,  but  because  of  my  looks." 

"Your  looks?" 

"  They  think  me  possessed  of  the  '  Evil  Eye  '  or  some 
such  folly  —  may  I  cut  you  a  piece  of  bread  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Peter !  " 

"  Already,  by  divers  honest-hearted  rustics,  I  am 
credited  with  having  cast  a  deadly  spell  upon  certain  un- 
fortunate pigs,  with  having  fought  hand  to  hand  with 
the  hosts  of  the  nethermost  pit,  and  with  having  sold 
my  soul  to  the  devil  —  may  I  trouble  you  to  pass  the 
butter?" 

"  Oh,  Peter,  how  foolish  of  them !  " 

"  And  how  excusable !  considering  their  ignorance  and 
superstition,"  said  I.  "  Mine,  I  am  well  aware,  is  not  a 
face  to  win  me  the  heart  of  man,  woman,  or  child;  they 
(especially  women  and  children)  share,  in  common  with 
dogs  and  horses,  that  divine  attribute  which,  for  want  of 
a  better  name,  we  call  '  instinct,'  whereby  they  love  or  hate 
for  the  mere  tone  of  a  voice,  the  glance  of  an  eye,  the 
motion  of  a  hand,  and,  the  love  or  hate  once  given,  the 
prejudice  for,  or  against,  is  seldom  wholly  overcome." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Charmian,  "  I  believe  in  first  impres- 
sions." 

"  Being  a  woman,"  said  I. 

"  Being  a  woman !  "  she  nodded ;    "  and  the  instinct  of 


The  Omen  329 

dog  and  child  and  woman  has  often  proved  true  in  the 
end." 

"  Surely  instinct  is  always  true?  "  said  I  —  "  I  'd  thank 
you  for  another  cup  of  tea  —  yet,  strangely  enough,  dogs 
generally  make  friends  with  me  very  readily,  and  the  few 
children  to  whom  I  've  spoken  have  neither  screamed  nor 
run  away  from  me.  Still,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  aware 
that  my  looks  are  scarcely  calculated  to  gain  the  love 
of  man,  woman,  or  child ;  not  that  it  matters  greatly, 
seeing  that  I  am  likely  to  hold  very  little  converse  with 
either." 

**  There  is  one  woman,  Peter,  to  whom  you  have  talked 
by  the  hour  together  —  " 

"  And  who  is  doubtless  weary  enough  of  it  all  —  more 
especially  of  Epictetus  and  Trojan  Helen." 

"  Two  lumps  of  sugar,  Peter.''  " 

"  Thank  you !  Women  are  very  like  flowers  —  "I 
began. 

"  That  is  a  very  profound  remark,  sir !  —  more  espe- 
cially coming  from  one  who  has  studied  and  knows  woman- 
kind so  deeply." 

"  —  and  it  is  a  pity  that  they  should  be  allowed  to 
*  waste  their  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.'  " 

"And  philosophical  blacksmiths,  Peter.''" 

"  More  so  if  they  be  poor  blacksmiths." 

"  I  said  '  philosophical,'  Peter." 

"  You  probably  find  your  situation  horribly  lonely 
here.''  "  I  went  on  after  a  pause, 

"  Yes ;   it 's  nice  and  lonely,  Peter." 

"  And,  undoubtedly,  this  cottage  is  very  poor  and  mean, 
and  —  er-i — humble?"  Charmian  smiled  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  But  then,  Charmian  Brown  is  a  very  humble  person, 
sir." 

"  And  you  have  n't  even  the  luxury  of  a  mirror  to  dress 
your  hair  by !  " 

*'  Is  it  so  very  clumsily  dressed,  sir?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  I  hastily,  "  indeed  I  was  thinking  — '  " 


330  The  Broad  Highway 

"Well,  Peter?" 

"  That  it  was  very  —  beautiful !  " 

"  Why,  you  told  me  that  last  night  —  come,  what  do 
you  think  of  it  this  morning?  " 

"  With  those  leaves  in  it  —  it  is  —  even  more  so !  " 

Charmian  laughed,  and,  rising,  swept  me  a  stately 
curtesy. 

"  After  all,  sir,  we  find  there  be  exceptions  to  every 
rule!" 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

"  Even  blacksmiths  !  " 

And  in  a  while,  having  finished  my  breakfast,  I  rose, 
and,  taking  my  hat,  bade  Charmian  "  Good  morning,"  and 
so  came  to  the  door.  But  on  the  threshold  I  turned  and 
looked  back  at  her.  She  had  risen,  and  stood  leaning  with 
one  hand  on  the  table ;  now  in  the  other  she  held  the  bread- 
knife,  and  her  eyes  were  upon  mine. 

And  lo !  wonder  of  wonders !  once  again,  but  this  time 
sudden  and  swift  —  up  from  the  round,  full  column  of 
her  throat,  up  over  cheek  and  brow  there  rushed  that  vivid 
tide  of  color;  her  eyes  grew  suddenly  deep  and  soft,  and 
then  were  hidden  'neath  her  lashes  —  and,  in  that  same 
moment,  the  knife  slipped  from  her  grasp,  and  falling, 
point  downwards,  stood  quivering  in  the  floor  between  us 

—  an  ugly  thing  that  gleamed  evilly. 

Was  this  an  omen  —  a  sign  vouchsafed  of  that  which, 
dark  and  terrible,  was,  even  then,  marching  to  meet  us 
upon  this  Broad  Highway?  O  Blind,  and  more  than 
blind! 

Almost  before  it  had  ceased  to  quiver  I  stooped,  and, 
plucking  it  from  the  floor,  gave  it  into  her  hand.  Now, 
as  I  did  so,  her  fingers  touched  mine,  and,  moved  by  a  sud- 
den mad  impulse,  I  stooped  and  pressed  my  lips  upon  them 

—  kissed  them  quick  and  fierce,  and  so  turned,  and  hurried 
upon  my  way. 

Yet,  as  I  went,  I  found  that  the  knife  had  cut  my  chin, 
and  that  I  was  bleeding. 

O  Blind,  and  more  than  blind !     Surely  this  was  a  warn- 


The  Omen  331 

ing,  an  omen  to  heed  —  to  shiver  over,  despite  the  warm 
sun! 

But,  seeing  the  blood,  I  laughed,  and  strode  village- 
wards,  blithe  of  heart  and  light  of  foot. 

O  Blind,  and  more  than  blind! 


CHAPTER    XVni 

IN    WHICH    I    HEAS    NEWS    OF    SIfi    MAUEICE    VIBAET 

"  Which  I  says  —  Lord  love  me !  " 

I  plunged  the  iron  back  into  the  fire,  and,  turning  my 
head,  espied  a  figure  standing  in  the  doorway ;  and,  though 
the  leather  hat  and  short,  round  jacket  had  been  super- 
seded by  a  smart  groom's  livery,  I  recognized  the  Postilion. 

"  So  'elp  me,  Bob,  if  this  ain't  a  piece  o'  luck !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, and,  with  the  words,  he  removed  his  hat  and  fell 
to  combing  his  short,  thick  hair  with  the  handle  of  his 
whip. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  think  so,"  said  I. 

"  You  can  drownd  me  if  it  ain't !  "  said  he. 

"  And,  pray,  how  is  the  gentleman  who  —  happened  to 
fall  and  hurt  himself,  if  you  remember  —  in  the  storm?  " 

"  'Appened  to  fall  an'  'urt  'isself  ?  "  repeated  the  Pos- 
tilion, winking  knowingly,  " '  'urt  'isself,'  says  you  — 
*  Walker ! '  says  I,  '  Walker ! '  "  with  which  he  laid  his  fore- 
finger against  the  side  of  his  nose  and  winked  again. 

"  What  might  you  be  pleased  to  mean  ?  " 

"  I  means  as  a  gent  'appenin'  to  fall  in  the  dark  may 
p'r'aps  cut  'is  'ead  open  —  but  'e  don't  give  'isself  two 
black  eyes,  a  bloody  nose,  a  split  hp,  an'  three  broken 
ribs,  all  at  once  —  it  ain't  nat'ral,  w'ich  if  you  says  con- 
trairy,  I  remarks  —  *  Walker ! '  Lord !  "  continued  the 
Postilion,  seeing  I  did  not  speak,  "  Lord !  it  must  'a'  been 
a  -pretty  warm  go  while  it  lasted  —  you  put  'im  to  sleep 
sound  enough;  it  took  me  over  a  hour  to  Tonbridge,  an' 
'e  never  moved  till  'e  'd  been  put  to  bed  at  '  The  Chequers  ' 
an'  a  doctor  sent  for.    Ah !  an'  a  nice  time  I  'ad  of  it,  what 


I  Hear  News  of  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  333 

wi'  chamber-maids  a-runnin'  up  an'  down  stairs  to  see  the 

*  poor  gentleman,'  an'  everybody  a-starin'  at  me,  an' 
a-shakin'  their  'eads,  an'  all  a-axin'  questions,  one  atop  o' 
the  other,  till  the  doctor  come.  *  'Ow  did  this  'appen,  me 
man?'  says  'e.  'A  haccident!'  says  I.  'A  haccident?  ' 
says  the  doctor,  wi'  a  look  in  'is  eye  as  I  didn't  just  like. 

*  Ah ! '  says  I,  *  fell  on  'is  'ead  —  out  o'  the  chaise,'  says  I, 

*  struck  a  stone,  or  summ'at,'  says  I.  '  Did  'e  fall  of  'is 
own  accord?'  says  the  doctor.     'Ah,  for  sure!'  says  I. 

*  Humph ! '  says  the  doctor,  '  what  wi'  'is  eyes,  an'  'is  nose, 
an'  'is  lip,  looks  to  me  as  if  some  one  'ad  'elped  'im.'  '  Then 
you  must  be  a  dam'  fool ! '  says  a  voice,  an'  there  's  my 
gentleman  —  Number  One,  you  know,  a-sittin'  up  in  bed 
an'  doin'  'is  'ardest  to  frown.     'Sir?'  says  the  doctor. 

*  Sir !  to  you,'  says  my  gentleman,  '  this  honest  fellow  tells 
the  truth.  I  did  fall  out  o'  the  accursed  chaise  —  an'  be 
damned  to  you ! '  says  'e.  '  Don't  excite  yourself,'  says  the 
doctor ;  '  in  your  present  condition  it  would  be  danger- 
ous.' *  Then  be  so  good  as  to  go  to  the  devil ! '  says  my 
gentleman.  *  I  will ! '  says  the  doctor,  an'  off  'e  goes.  '  Hi, 
there,  you,'  says  my  gentleman,  callin'  to  me  as  soon  as 
we  were  alone,  '  this  accursed  business  'as  played  the  devil 
with  me,  an'  I  need  a  servant.  'Ow  much  do  you  want  to 
stay  wi'  me?  '  '  Twenty-five  shillin'  a  week,'  says  I,  doin' 
myself  proud  while  I  'ad  the  chance.  '  I  '11  give  ye  thirty,' 
says  'e;  '  wot 's  ye  name?  '     '  Jacob  Trimble,  sir,'  says  I. 

*  An'  a  most  accursed  name  it  is !  —  I  '11  call  you  Parks,' 
says  'e,  '  an'  when  I  ring  let  no  one  answer  but  yourself. 
You  can  go.  Parks  —  an'.  Parks  —  get  me  another  doc- 
tor.' Well,"  pursued  the  Postilion,  seating  himself  near 
by,  "  we  'd  been  there  a  couple  o'  weeks,  an'  though  'e  was 
better,  an'  'is  face  near  well  again,  'e  still  kept  to  'is  room, 
when,  one  day,  a  smart  phaeton  an'  blood  'osses  drives  up, 
an'  out  steps  a  fine  gentleman  —  one  o'  them  pale,  sleepy 
sort.  I  was  a-standin'  in  the  yard,  brushin'  my  master's 
coat  —  a  bottle-green  wi'  silver  buttons,  each  button  'avin' 
what  they  calls  a  monneygram  stamped  onto  it.  *  Ha,  me 
man !  *  says  the  sleepy  gent,  steppin'  up  to  me,  *  a  fine 


334  The  Broad  Highway 

coat  —  doocid  fashionable  cut,  curse  me !  —  your  mas- 
ter's ?  '  *  Yes,  sir,'  says  I,  brushin'  away.  '  Silver  but- 
tons too ! '  says  the  gent,  '  let  me  see  —  ah  yes !  —  a  V, 
yes,  to  be  sure  —  'ave  the  goodness  to  step  to  your  master 
an'  say  as  a  gentleman  begs  to  see  'im.'  '  Can't  be  done, 
sir,'  says  I ;  'me  master  ain't  seein'  nobody,  bein'  in  in- 
different 'ealth.'  *  Nonsense ! '  says  the  gentleman,  yawnin' 
an'  slippin'  a  guinea  into  me  'and.  '  Just  run,  like  a  good 
feller,  an'  tell  'im  as  I  bear  a  message  from  George ! ' 
'  From  'oo?  '  says  I.  *  From  George,'  says  the  gent,  smilin' 
an'  yawnin'  —  *just  say  from  George.'  So,  to  come  to 
the  end  of  it,  up  I  goes,  an'  finds  me  master  walkin'  up  an' 
down  an'  a-swearin'  to  'isself  as  usual.  '  A  gentleman  to 
see  you,  sir,'  says  I.  '  Why,  devil  burn  your  miserable 
carcass ! '  say  'e,  '  did  n't  I  tell  you  as  I  'd  see  nobody.'' ' 
'  Ay,  but  this  'ere  gent 's  a-sayin'  'e  'as  a  message  from 
George,  sir.'  My  master  raised  both  clenched  fists  above 
'is  'ead  an'  swore  —  ah !  better  than  I  'd  heard  for  many 
a  long  day.  'Ows'ever,  downstairs  'e  goes,  cursin'  on  every 
stair.  In  a  time  'e  comes  back.  *  Parks,'  says  'e,  '  do  you 
remember  that  —  that  place  where  we  got  lost  —  in  the 
storm,  Parks .'' '  *  Ah,  sir,'  says  I.  '  Well,  go  there  at  once,' 
says  'e,  '  an','  —  well  —  'e  give  me  certain  orders  —  jumps 
into  the  phaeton  wi'  the  sleepy  gentleman,  an'  they  drive 
off  together  —  an'  accordin'  to  orders  —  'ere  I  am." 

"  A  very  interesting  story !  "  said  I.  "  And  so  you  are 
a  groom  now.?  " 

"  Ah !  —  an'  you  are  a  blacksmith,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  it  don't  beat  everything  as  ever  I  heard  — 
I  'm  a  stiff  'un,  that 's  all !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  .'*  " 

"  I  means  my  droppin'  in  on  you,  like  this  'ere,  just  as 
if  you  was  n't  the  one  man  in  all  England  as  I  was  'opeful 
to  drop  in  on." 

"  And  you  find  me  very  busy !  "  said  I. 

*'  Lord  love  me !  "  said  the  Postilion,  combing  his  hair 
so  very  hard  that  it  wrinkled  his  brow.    "  I  comes  up  from 


I  Hear  News  of  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  335 

Tonbridge  this  'ere  very  afternoon,  an',  'avin'  drunk  a  pint 
over  at  '  The  Bull '  yonder,  an'  axed  questions  as  none  o' 
they  chawbacons  could  give  a  answer  to,  I  'ears  the  chink 
o'  your  'ammer,  an'  comin'  over  'ere,  chance  like,  I  finds 

—  you ;   I  '11  be  gormed  if  it  ain't  a'most  onnat'ral !  " 
"And  why?" 

"  'Cos  you  was  the  very  i-dentical  chap  as  I  come  up 
from  Tonbridge  to  find." 

"  Were  you  sent  to  find  me  ?  " 

"Easy  a  bit  —  you're  a  blacksmith,  a'n't  you?" 

"  I  told  you  so  before." 

"  Wot 's  more,  you  looks  a  blacksmith  in  that  there 
leather  apron,  an'  wi'  your  face  all  smutty.  To  be  sure, 
you  're  powerful  like  'im  —  Number  One  as  was  —  my 
master  as  now  is  —  " 

"  Did  he  send  you  to  find  m^  ?  " 

"  Some  folks  might  take  you  for  a  gentleman,  meetin' 
you  off'and  like,  but  I  knows  different." 

"As  how?" 

"  Well,  I  never  'eard  of  a  gentleman  tumin'  'isself  into 
a  blacksmith,  afore,  for  one  thing  —  " 

"  Still,  one  might,"  I  ventured. 

"  No,"  answered  the  Postilion,  with  a  decisive  shake  of 
the  head,  "  it 's  ag'in'  natur' ;  when  a  gentleman  gets 
down  in  the  world,  an'  'as  to  do  summ'at  for  a  livin',  'e 
generally  shoots  'isself  —  ah !  an'  I  've  knowed  'em  do 
it  too !  An'  then  I  've  noticed  as  you  don't  swear,  nor  yet 
curse  —  not  even  a  damn." 

"Seldom,"  said  I;  "but  what  of  that?" 

"  I  've  seed  a  deal  o'  the  quality  in  my  time,  one  way  or 
another  —  many  's  the  fine  gentleman  as  I  've  druv,  or 
groomed  for,  an'  never  a  one  on  'em  as  did  n't  curse  me  — 
ah ! "  said  the  Postilion,  sighing  and  shaking  his  head, 
"  'oa?  they  did  curse  me !  —  'specially  one  —  a  young  lord 

—  oncommon  fond  o'  me  'e  were  too,  in  'is  way,  to  the  day 
'is  'oss  fell  an'  rolled  on  'im.  '  Jacob,'  says  'e,  short  Hke, 
for  'e  were  a-goin'  fast.  '  Jacob ! '  says  'e,  '  damn  your 
infernally  ugly  mug ! '  says  'e ;  *  you  bet  me  as  that  cursed 


33^  The  Broad  Highway 

brute  would  do  for  me.'  *  I  did,  my  lord,'  says  I,  an'  I 
remember  as  the  tears  was  a-runnin'  down  all  our  faces  as 
we  carried  'im  along  on  the  five-barred  gate,  that  bein' 
'andiest.  '  Well,  devil  take  your  soul,  you  was  right,  Jacob, 
an'  be  damned  to  you ! '  says  'e ;  '  you  '11  find  a  tenner  in 
my  coat  pocket  'ere,  you  've  won  it,  for  I  sha'n't  last  the 
day  out,  Jacob.'  An'  'e  did  n't  either,  for  'e  died  afore 
we  got  'im  'ome,  an'  left  me  a  'undred  pound  in  'is  will. 
Ah !  gentlemen  as  is  gents  is  all  the  same.  Lord  love  you ! 
there  never  was  one  on  'em  but  damned  my  legs,  or  my 
liver,  or  the  chaise,  or  the  'osses,  or  the  road,  or  the  inns, 
or  all  on  'em  together.  If  you  was  to  strip  me  as  naked 
as  the  palm  o'  your  'and,  an'  to  strip  a  lord,  or  a  earl,  or 
a  gentleman  as  naked  as  the  palm  o'  your  'and,  an'  was 
to  place  us  side  by  side  —  where 'd  be  the  difference.'' 
We  're  both  men,  both  fl^sh  and  blood,  a'n't  we .''  —  then 
where  'd  be  the  difference  ?  'Oo  's  to  tell  which  is  the  lord 
an'  which  is  the  postilion.'*  " 

"Who  indeed.''"  said  I,  setting  down  my  hammer. 
"  Jack  is  often  as  good  as  his  master  —  and  a  great  deal 
better." 

"  Why,  nobody !  "  nodded  the  Postilion,  "  not  a  soul  — 
till  we  opened  our  mouths ;  an'  then  't  would  be  easy 
enough,  for  my  lord,  or  earl,  or  gentleman,  bein'  naked, 
an'  not  likin'  it  (which  would  only  be  nat'ral),  would  fall 
a-swearin'  'eavens  'ard,  damning  everybody  an'  cursin' 
everything,  an'  never  stop  to  think,  while  I  —  not  bein' 
born  to  it  —  should  stand  there  a-shiverin'  an'  tryin'  a 
curse  or  two  myself,  maybe  —  but  Lord !  mine  would  n't 
amount  to  nothin'  at  all,  me  not  bein'  nat'rally  gifted,  nor 
yet  born  to  it  —  an'  this  brings  me  round  to  'er !  " 

"Her?" 

"  Ah  —  'er !  Number  Two  —  'er  as  quarrelled  wi'  Num- 
ber One  all  the  way  from  London  —  'er  as  run  away  from 
Number  One  —  wot  about  —  'er.**  "  Here  he  fell  to  comb- 
ing his  hair  again  with  his  whip-handle,  while  his  quick, 
bright  eyes  dodged  from  my  face  to  the  glowing  forge  and 
back  again,  and  his  clean-shaven  lips  pursed  themselves 


I  Hear  News  of  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  337 

in  a  soundless  whistle.  And,  as  I  watched  him,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  this  was  the  question  that  had  been  in  his  mind 
all  along. 

"  Seeing  she  did  manage  to  run  away  from  him  —  Num- 
ber One  —  she  is  probably  very  well,"  I  answered. 

"Ah  —  to  be  sure!  very  well,  you  say.''  —  ah,  to  be 
sure !  "  said  the  Postilion,  apparently  lost  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  bellows ;  "  an'  —  where  might  she  be,  now .''  " 

"  That  I  am  unable  to  tell  you,"  said  I,  and  began  to 
blow  up  the  fire  while  the  Postilion  watched  me,  sucking 
tJie  handle  of  his  whip  reflectively. 

"  You  work  oncommon  'ard  —  drownd  me  if  you  don't !  " 

"Pretty  hard!"  I  nodded. 

"  An'  gets  well  paid  for  it,  p'r'aps?  " 

"  Not  so  well  as  I  could  wish,"  said  I. 

"  Not  so  well  as  'e  could  wish,"  nodded  the  Postilion, 
apparently  addressing  the  sledge-hammer,  for  his  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  it.  "Of  course  not  —  the  'arder  a  man  works 
the  wuss  'e  gets  paid  —  'ow  much  did  you  say  you  got  a 
week?  " 

"  I  named  no  sum,"  I  replied. 

"Well  —  'ow  much  might  you  be  gettin'  a  week.'"' 

"  Ten  shillings." 

"  Gets  ten  shillin'  a  week !  "  he  nodded  to  the  sledge- 
hammer, "  that  ain't  much  for  a  chap  Hke  'im  —  kick  me 
if  it  is !  " 

"  Yet  I  make  it  do  very  well ! " 

The  Postilion  became  again  absorbed  in  contemplation 
of  the  bellows ;  indeed  he  studied  them  so  intently,  viewing 
them  with  his  head  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  that 
I  fell  to  watching  him,  under  my  brows,  and  so,  presently, 
caught  him  furtively  watching  me.  Hereupon  he  drew  lus 
whip  from  his  mouth  and  spoke. 

"  Supposing  —  "  said  he,  and  stopped. 

"  Well.?  "  I  inquired,  and,  leaning  upon  my  hammer,  I 
looked  him  square  in  the  eye. 

"Supposing  —  wot  are  you  a-staring  at,  my  feller?" 

"  You  have  said  *  supposing  '  twice  —  well?  " 


338  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Well,"  said  he,  fixing  his  eye  upon  the  bellows  again, 
"  supposing  you  was  to  make  a  guinea  over  an'  above  your 
wages  this  week?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  much  surprised,"  said  I. 

"You  would?" 

"  I  certainly  should." 

"  Then  —  why  not  surprise  yourself  ?  " 

"  You  must  speak  more  plainly,"  said  I. 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  Postilion,  still  with  his  gaze  ab- 
stracted, "  supposin'  I  was  to  place  a  guinea  down  on  that 
there  anvil  o'  yours  —  would  that  'elp  you  to  remember 
where  Number  Two  —  'er  —  might  be  ?  " 

"  No !  " 

"It  wouldn't?" 

"  No !  " 

"  A  guinea  's  a  lot  o'  money !  " 

"  It  is,"  I  nodded. 

"  An'  you  say  it  would  n't  ?  " 

"  It  would  not !  "  said  I. 

"  Then  say  —  oh !  say  two  pun'  ten  an'  'ave  done 
with  it." 

"  No !  "  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"  What  —  not  —  d'  ye  say  *  no  '  to  two  pun'  ten  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Well,  let 's  say  three  pound." 

I  shook  my  head  and,  drawing  the  iron  from  the  fire, 
began  to  hammer  at  it. 

"  Well  then,"  shouted  the  Postilion,  for  I  was  making 
as  much  din  as  possible,  "  say  four  —  five  —  ten  —  fifteen 
—  twenty-five  —  fifty  !  "     Here   I  ceased   hammering. 

"  Tell  me  when  you  've  done !  "  said  I. 

"  You  're  a  cool  customer,  you  are  —  ah !  an'  a  rum 
un'  at  that  —  I  never  see  a  rummer." 

"  Other  people  have  thought  the  same,"  said  I,  exam- 
ining the  half-finished  horseshoe  ere  I  set  it  back  in  the 
fire. 

"  Sixty  guineas !  "  said  the  Postilion  gloomily. 

"  Come  again !  "  said  I. 


I  Hear  News  of  Sir  Maurice  Vibart    339 

"  Seventy  then !  "  said  he,  his  gloom  deepening. 

"  Once  more !  "  said  I. 

"  A  'undred  —  one  'undred  guineas  !  "  said  he,  remov- 
ing his  hat  to  mop  at  his  brow. 

"  Any  more.''  "  I  inquired. 

"  No !  "  returned  the  Postilion  sulkily,  putting  on  his 
hat,  "  I  'm  done !  " 

"  Did  he  set  the  figure  at  a  hundred  guineas.''  "  said  I. 

"  'Im  —  oh !  'e  's  mad  for  'er,  *e  is  —  'e  'd  ruin  'isself , 
body  and  soul,  for  'er,  'e  would,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  offer 
no  more ;  no  woman  as  ever  breathed  —  no  matter  'ow 
'andsome  an'  up-standin'  —  is  worth  more  'n  a  'undred 
guineas  —  it  ain't  as  if  she  was  a  blocd-mare  —  an'  I  'm 
done ! " 

"  Then  I  wish  you  good-day !  " 

"  But  —  just  think  —  a  'undred  guineas  is  a  fortun' !  " 

"  It  is !  "  said  I. 

"  Come,  think  it  over,"  said  the  Postilion  persuasively, 
"  think  it  over,  now  !  " 

"  Let  me  fully  understand  you  then,"  said  I ;  "  you  pro- 
pose to  pay  me  one  hundred  guineas  on  behalf  of  your 
master,  known  heretofore  as  Number  One,  for  such  infor- 
mation as  shall  enable  him  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of 
a  certain  person  known  as  Her,  Number  Two  —  is  that 
how  the  matter  stands .''  " 

"  Ah  !  that 's  'ow  it  stands,"  nodded  the  Postilion,  "  the 
money  to  be  yours  as  soon  as  ever  'e  lays  'ands  on  'er  — 
is  it  a  go.''  " 

"  No ! " 

"  No.?  " 

"No!" 

"  W'y,  you  must  be  stark,  starin'  mad  —  that  you  must 
—  unless  you  're  sweet  on  'er  yourself  —  " 

"  You  talk  like  a  fool !  "  said  I  angrily. 

"  So  you  are  sweet  on  'er  then  ?  " 

"  Ass  !  "  said  I.  "  Fool !  "  And,  dropping  my  hammer, 
I  made  towards  him,  but  he  darted  nimbly  to  the  door, 
where,  seeing  I  did  not  pursue,  he  paused. 


340  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  may  be  a  hass,"  he  nodded,  "  an'  I  may  be  a  fool  — 
but  I  don't  go  a-fallin'  in  love  wi'  ladies  as  is  above  me, 
an'  out  o'  my  reach,  and  don't  chuck  away  a  'undred 
guineas  for  one  as  ain't  likely  to  look  my  way  —  not  me ! 
Which  I  begs  leave  to  say  —  hass  yourself,  an'  likewise 
fool  —  bah !  "  With  which  expletive  he  set  his  thumb  to 
his  nose,  spread  out  his  fingers,  wagged  them  and  swag- 
gered off. 

Above  me,  and  out  of  my  reach !  One  not  likely  to  look 
my  way ! 

And,  in  due  season,  having  finished  the  horseshoe,  hav- 
ing set  each  tool  in  its  appointed  place  in  the  racks,  and 
raked  out  the  clinkers  from  the  fire,  I  took  my  hat  and 
coat,  and,  closing  the  door  behind  me,  set  out  for  the 
Hollow. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

HOW    I    MET    BLACK    6£0£GE    AGAIN,    AND    WHEREIN    THE 
PATIENT    READER    SHALL    FIND    A    "  LITTLE    BLOOD  " 

It  was  evening  —  that  time  before  the  moon  is  up  and 
when  the  earth  is  dark,  as  yet,  and  full  of  shadows.  Now 
as  I  went,  by  some  chance  there  recurred  to  me  the  words 
of  an  old  song  I  had  read  somewhere,  years  ago,  words 
written  in  the  glorious,  brutal,  knightly  days  of  Edward 
the  First,  of  warlike  memory ;    and  the  words  ran  thus : 

"  For  her  love  I  carke,  and  care. 
For  her  love  I  droop,  and  dare. 
For  her  love  my  bliss  is  bare. 
And  I  wax  wan!" 

"  I  wonder*  what  poor,  love-sick,  long-dead-and-forgot- 
ten  fool  wrote  that  ?  "  said  I  aloud. 

"  For  her  love,  in  sleep  I  slake. 
For  her  love,  all  night  I  wake. 
For  her  love,  I  mourning  make 
More  than  any  man! " 

Some  doughty  squire-at-arms,  or  perhaps  some  wan- 
dering knight  (probably  of  a  dark,  unlovely  look),  who 
rode  the  forest  ways  with  his  thoughts  full  of  Her,  and 
dreaming  of  Her  loveliness.  "  Howbeit,  he  was,  beyond 
all  doubt,  a  fool  and  a  great  one !  "  said  I,  "  for  it  is  to 
be  inferred,  from  these  few  words  he  has  left  us,  that  his 
love  was  hopeless.  She  was,  perhaps,  proud  and  of  a 
high  estate,  one  who  was  above  him,  and  far  beyond  his 
reach  —  who  was  not  likely  even  to  look  his  way.  Doubt- 
less she  was  beautiful,  and  therefore  haughty  and  dis- 
dainful, for  disdainful  pride  is  an  attribute  of  beauty,  and 


342  The  Broad  Highway 

ever  was  and  ever  will  be  —  and  hence  it  came  that  our 
misfortunate  squire,  or  knight-errant,  was  scorned  for  his 
pains,  poor  fool !  Which  yet  was  his  own  fault,  after  all, 
and,  indeed,  his  just  reward,  for  what  has  any  squire-at- 
arras  or  lusty  knight,  with  the  world  before  him,  and  glory 
yet  unachieved  —  to  do  with  love  ?  Love  is  a  bauble  —  a 
toy,  a  pretty  pastime  for  idle  folk  who  have  no  thought 
above  such  —  away  with  it !  —  Bah !  "     And,  in  my  mind 

—  that  is  to  say,  mentally  —  I  set  my  thumb  to  my  nose, 
and  spread  my  fingers,  and  wagged  them  —  even  as  the 
Postilion  had  done.  And  yet,  despite  this,  the  words  of 
the  old  song  recurred  again  and  again,  pathetically  in- 
sistent, voicing  themselves  in  my  footsteps  so  that,  to 
banish  them,  I  presently  stood  still. 

And  in  that  very  moment  a  gigantic  figure  came  burst- 
ing through  the  hedge,  clearing  the  ditch  in  a  single  bound 

—  and  Black  George  confronted  me. 

Haggard  of  face,  with  hair  and  beard  matted  and  un- 
kempt, his  clothes  all  dusty  and  torn,  he  presented  a  very 
wild  and  terrible  appearance;  and  beneath  one  arm  he 
carried  two  bludgeons.  The  Pedler  had  spoken  truly,  then, 
and,  as  I  met  the  giant's  smouldering  eye,  I  felt  my  mouth 
become  suddenly  parched  and  dry,  and  the  palms  of  my 
hands  grew  moist  and  clammy. 

For  a  moment  neither  of  us  spoke,  only  we  looked  at 
each  other  steadily  in  the  eye;  and  I  saw  the  hair  of  his 
beard  bristle,  and  he  raised  one  great  hand  to  the  collar 
of  his  shirt,  and  tore  it  open  as  if  it  were  strangling  him. 

"  George !  "  said  I  at  last,  and  held  out  my  hand. 

George  never  stirred. 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands,  George .''  " 

His  lips  opened,  but  no  words  came. 

"  Had  I  known  where  to  look  for  you,  I  should  have 
sought  you  out  days  ago,"  I  went  on  ;  "  as  it  is  I  have 
been  wishing  to  meet  you,  hoping  to  set  matters  right." 

Once  again  his  lips  opened,  but  still  no  word  came. 

"  You  see.  Prudence  is  breaking  her  heart  over  you." 

A  laugh  burst  from  him,  sudden,  and  harsh. 


How  I  Met  Black  George  Again    343 

"  You 'm  a  liar!"  said  he,  and  his  voice  quavered 
strangely. 

"  I  speak  gospel  truth !  "  said  I. 

"  I  be  nowt  to  Prue  since  the  day  you  beat  me  at  th' 
*ammer-throwin'  —  an'  ye  know  it." 

"  Prudence  loves  you,  and  always  has,"  said  I.  "  Go 
back  to  her,  George,  go  back  to  her,  and  to  your  work  — 
be  the  man  I  know  you  are ;  go  back  to  her  —  she  loves 
you.  If  you  still  doubt  my  word  —  here,  read  that !  "  and 
I  held  out  his  own  letter,  the  letter  on  which  Prudence  had 
written  those  four  words :    "  George,  I  love  you." 

He  took  it  from  me  —  crumpled  it  slowly  in  his  hand 
and  tossed  it  into  the  ditch. 

"  You  'm  a  liar !  "  said  he  again,  "  an'  a  —  coward !  " 

"  And  you,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  fool,  a  blind,  gross,  self- 
ish fool,  who,  in  degrading  yourself  —  in  skulking  about 
the  woods  and  lanes  —  is  bringing  black  shame  and  sorrow 
to  as  sweet  a  maid  as  ever  —  " 

"  It  don't  need  you  to  tell  me  what  she  be  an'  what  she 
bean't,"  said  Black  George,  in  a  low,  repressed  voice.  "  I 
knowed  'er  long  afore  you  ever  set  eyes  on  'er  —  grew  up 
wi'  'er,  I  did,  an'  I  bean't  deaf  nor  blind.  Ye  see,  I  loved 
'er  —  all  my  life  —  that 's  why  one  o'  us  two  's  a-goin'  to 
lie  out  'ere  all  night  —  ah !  an'  all  to-morrow,  likewise,  if 
summun  don't  chance  to  find  us,"  saying  which,  he  forced 
a  cudgel  into  my  hand. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  George  ?  " 

"  I  means  as  if  you  don't  do  for  me,  then  I  be  a-goin'  to 
do  for  'ee." 

"  But  why  .'*  "  I  cried ;   "  in  God's  name  —  why .''  " 

"  I  be  slow,  p'r'aps,  an'  thick  p'r'aps,  but  I  bean't  a  fule 
—  come,  man  —  if  she  be  worth  winnin'  she  be  worth 
fightin'  for." 

"  But  I  tell  you  she  loves  Black  George,  and  no  other  — 
she  never  had  any  thought  of  me,  or  I  of  her  —  this  is 
madness  —  and  worse!  "  and  I  tossed  the  cudgel  aside. 

"  An'  I  tell  'ee,"  broke  in  the  smith,  his  repression  giv- 
ing way  before  a  fury  as  fierce  as  it  was  sudden,  "  I  tell 


344  The  Broad  Highway 

'ee  —  you  be  a  liar,  an'  a  coward  —  I  know,  I  know  — 
I  Ve  heerd  an'  I  've  seen  —  your  lyin',  coward's  tongue 
sha'n't  save  'ee  —  oh,  ecod !  wi'  your  white  face  an'  trem- 
blin'  'ands  —  you  be  a  shame  to  the  woman  as  loves  ye,  an' 
the  woman  as  bore  ye !  —  stand  up,  I  say,  or  by  God !  I  '11 
do  for  'ee !  "  and  he  raised  his  weapon. 

Without  another  word  I  picked  up  the  cudgel,  and, 
pointing  to  a  gate  a  little  farther  along  the  road,  I  led  the 
way  into  the  meadow  beyond.  On  the  other  side  of  this 
meadow  ran  the  lane  I  have  mentioned  before,  and  beyond 
the  lane  was  the  Hollow,  and  glancing  thitherward,  I  be- 
thought me  that  supper  would  be  ready,  and  Charmian 
waiting  for  me,  just  about  now,  and  I  sighed,  I  remember, 
as  I  drew  off  my  coat,  and  laid  it,  together  with  my  hat, 
under  the  hedge. 

The  moon  was  beginning  to  rise,  casting  the  magic  of 
her  pale  loveliness  upon  the  world,  and,  as  I  rolled  up  my 
sleeves,  I  glanced  round  about  me  with  an  eye  that  strove 
to  take  in  the  beauty  of  all  things  —  of  hedge  and  tree  and 
winding  road,  the  gloom  of  wood,  the  sheen  of  water,  and 
the  far,  soft  sweep  of  hill  and  dale.  Over  all  these  my 
glance  lingered  yearningly,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  this 
look  might  be  my  last.  And  now,  as  I  stooped  and  gripped 
my  weapon,  I  remembered  how  I  had,  that  morning,  kissed 
her  fingers,  and  I  was  strangely  comforted  and  glad. 

The  night  air,  which  had  been  warm  heretofore,  struck 
chilly  now,  and,  as  I  stood  up  fronting  Black  George,  I 
shivered,  seeing  which  he  laughed,  short  and  fierce,  and, 
with  the  laugh,  came  at  me,  striking  downwards  at  my 
head  as  he  came,  and  tough  wood  met  tough  wood  with  a 
shock  that  jarred  me  from  wrist  to  shoulder. 

To  hit  him  upon  the  arm,  and  disable  him,  was  my  one 
thought  and  object,  I  therefore  watched  for  an  opening, 
parrying  his  swift  strokes  and  avoiding  his  rushes  as  well 
as  I  might.  Time  and  again  our  weapons  crashed  to- 
gether, now  above  my  head,  now  to  right,  or  left,  some- 
times rattling  in  quick  succession,  sometimes  with  pauses 
between  strokes,  pauses  filled  in  with  the  sound  of  heavy 


How  I  Met  Black  George  Again    345 

breathing  and  the  ceaseless  thud  of  feet  upon  the  sward. 
I  was  already  bruised  in  half-a-dozen  places,  my  right 
hand  and  arm  felt  numb,  and  with  a  shooting  pain  in  the 
shoulder,  that  grew  more  acute  with  every  movement;  my 
breath  also  was  beginning  to  labor.  Yet  still  Black  George 
pressed  on,  untiring,  relentless,  showering  blow  on  blow, 
while  my  arm  grew  ever  weaker  and  weaker,  and  the  pain 
in  my  shoulder  throbbed  more  intensely. 

How  long  had  we  fought  .^^  five  minutes  —  ten  —  half- 
an-hour  —  an  hour  ?  I  could  see  the  sweat  gleaming  upon 
his  cheek,  his  eyes  were  wild,  his  mouth  gaped  open,  and 
he  drew  his  breath  in  great  sobbing  pants.  But,  as  I 
looked,  his  cudgel  broke  through  my  tired  guard,  and,  tak- 
ing me  full  upon  the  brow,  drove  me  reeling  back;  my 
weapon  slipped  from  my  grasp,  and,  blinded  with  blood, 
I  staggered  to  and  fro,  like  a  drunken  man,  and  presently 
slipped  to  the  grass.  And  how  sweet  it  was  to  lie  thus, 
with  my  cheek  upon  kind  mother  earth,  to  stretch  my 
aching  body,  and  with  my  weary  limbs  at  rest.  But  Black 
George  stood  above  me,  panting,  and,  as  his  eyes  met  mine, 
he  laughed  —  a  strange-sounding,  broken  laugh,  and 
whirled  up  his  cudgel  —  to  beat  out  my  brains  —  even  as 
the  Pedler  had  foretold  —  to-morrow  the  blackbird  would 
sing  upon  my  motionless  breast,  and,  looking  into  Black 
George's  eyes  —  I  smiled. 

"  Get  up !  "  he  panted,  and  lowered  the  cudgel.  "  Get 
up  —  or,  by  God  —  I  '11  do  —  for  'ee !  " 

Sighing,  I  rose,  and  took  the  cudgel  he  held  out  to  me, 
wiping  the  blood  from  my  eyes  as  I  did  so. 

And  now,  as  I  faced  him  once  more,  all  things  vanished 
from  my  ken  save  the  man  before  me  —  he  filled  the  imi- 
verse,  and,  even  as  he  leaped  upon  me,  I  leaped  upon  him, 
and  struck  with  all  my  strength;  there  was  a  jarring, 
splintering  shock,  and  Black  George  was  beaten  down  upon 
his  knees,  but  as,  dropping  my  weapon,  I  stepped  forward, 
he  rose,  and  stood  panting,  and  staring  at  the  broken 
cudgel  in  his  hand. 

"  George !  "  said  I. 


34^  The  Broad  Highway 

"  You  'm  a-bleedin',  Peter !  " 

"  For  that  matter,  so  are  you." 

"  Blood-lettin'  be  —  good  for  a  man  —  sometimes  —  it 
eases  un." 

"  It  does,"  I  panted ;  "  perhaps  you  are  —  willing  to  — 
hear  reason  —  now?  " 

"  We  be  —  even  so  fur  —  but  fists  be  better  nor  — 
sticks  any  day  —  an'  I  —  be  goin'  —  to  try  ye  —  wi' 
fists !  " 

"  Have  we  not  bled  each  other  sufficiently?  " 

"  No,"  cried  George,  between  set  teeth,  "  theer  be  more 
nor  blood-lettin'  'twixt  you  an'  me  —  I  said  as  'ow  one  on 
us  would  lie  out  'ere  all  night  —  an'  so  'e  shall  —  by  God ! 
—  come  on  —  fists  be  best  arter  all !  " 

This  was  the  heyday  of  boxing,  and,  while  at  Oxford, 
I  had  earned  some  small  fame  at  the  sport.  But  it  was 
one  thing  to  spar  with  a  man  my  own  weight  in  a  padded 
ring,  with  limited  rounds  governed  by  a  code  of  rules,  and 
quite  another  to  fight  a  man  like  Black  George,  in  a  lonely 
meadow,  by  light  of  moon.  Moreover,  he  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  science,  as  I  could  see  from  the  way  he 
"  shaped,"  the  only  difference  between  us  being  that 
whereas  he  fought  with  feet  planted  square  and  wide  apart, 
I  balanced  myself  upon  my  toes,  which  is  (I  think)  to  be 
commended  as  being  quicker,  and  more  calculated  to  lessen 
the  impact  of  a  blow. 

Brief  though  the  respite  had  been,  it  had  served  me  to 
recover  my  breath,  and,  though  my  head  yet  rung  from 
the  cudgel-stroke,  and  the  blood  still  flowed  freely,  getting, 
every  now  and  then,  into  my  eyes,  my  brain  was  clear  as 
we  fronted  each  other  for  what  we  both  knew  must  be  the 
decisive  bout. 

The  smith  stood  with  his  mighty  shoulders  stooped 
something  forward,  his  left  arm  drawn  back,  his  right 
flung  across  his  chest,  and,  so  long  as  we  fought,  I  watched 
that  great  fist  and  knotted  forearm,  for,  though  he  struck 
oftener  with  his  left,  it  was  in  that  passive  right  that  I 
thought  my  danger  really  lay. 


How  I  Met  Black  George  Again    347 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  chronicle  this  fight  blow  by 
blow;  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  has  already  been 
said  in  that  regard;  suffice  it  then,  that  as  the  fight  pro- 
gressed I  found  that  I  was  far  the  quicker,  as  I  had  hoped, 
and  that  the  majority  of  his  blows  I  either  blocked  or 
avoided  easily  enough. 

Time  after  time  his  fist  shot  over  my  shoulder,  or  over 
my  head,  and  time  after  time  I  countered  heavily  —  now 
on  his  body,  now  on  his  face;  once  he  staggered,  and  once 
I  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  his  features  convulsed 
with  pain;  he  was  smeared  with  blood  from  the  waist  up, 
but  still  he  came  on. 

I  fought  desperately  now,  savagely,  taking  advantage 
of  every  opening,  for  though  I  struck  him  four  times  to  his 
once,  yet  his  blows  had  four  times  the  weight  of  mine; 
my  forearms  were  bruised  to  either  elbow,  and  my  breath 
came  in  gasps ;  and  always  I  watched  that  deadly  "  right." 
And  presently  it  came,  with  arm  and  shoulder  and  body 
behind  it  —  quick  as  a  flash,  and  resistless  as  a  cannon- 
ball  ;  but  I  was  ready,  and,  as  I  leaped,  I  struck,  and 
struck  him  clean  and  true  upon  the  angle  of  the  jaw;  and, 
spinning  round.  Black  George  fell,  and  lay  with  his  arms 
wide  stretched,  and  face  buried  in  the  grass. 

Slowly,  slowly  he  got  upon  his  knees,  and  thence  to  his 
feet,  and  so  stood  panting,  hideous  with  blood  and  sweat, 
bruised  and  cut  and  disfigured,  staring  at  me,  as  one  in 
amaze. 

Now,  as  I  looked,  my  heart  went  out  to  him,  and  I 
reached  forth  my  right  hand. 

"  George !  "  I  panted.     "  Oh,  George !  " 

But  Black  George  only  looked  at  me,  and  shook  his 
head,  and  groaned. 

"  Oh,  Peter ! "  said  he,  "  you  be  a  man,  Peter !  I  've 
fou't  —  ah !  many  's  the  time,  an'  no  man  ever  knocked  me 
down  afore.  Oh,  Peter !  I  —  I  could  love  'ee  for  it  — 
if  I  did  n't  hate  the  very  sight  of  'ee  —  come  on,  an'  let 's 
get  it  over  an'  done  wi'." 

So  once  again  fists  were  clenched  and  jaws  set  —  once 


34^  The  Broad  Highway 

again  came  the  trampling  of  feet,  the  hiss  of  breath,  and 
the  thudding  shock  of  blows  given  and  taken. 

A  sudden,  jarring  impact  —  the  taste  of  sulphur  on  my 
tongue  —  a  gathering  darkness  before  my  eyes,  and,  know- 
ing this  was  the  end,  I  strove  desperately  to  close  with  him ; 
but  I  was  dazed,  blind  —  my  arms  fell  paralyzed,  and,  in 
that  moment,  the  Smith's  right  fist  drove  forward.  A 
jagged  flame  shot  up  to  heaven  —  the  earth  seemed  to  rush 
up  towards  me  —  a  roaring  blackness  engulfed  me,  and 
then  —  silence. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOW  I  CAME  UP  OUT  OF  THE  DASK 

Some  one  was  calling  to  me,  a  long  way  off. 

Some  one  was  leaning  down  from  a  great  height  to  call 
to  me  in  the  depths ;  and  the  voice  was  wonderfully  sweet, 
but  faint,  faint,  because  the  height  was  so  very  high,  and 
the  depths  so  very  great. 

And  still  the  voice  called  and  called,  and  I  felt  sorry 
that  I  could  not  answer,  because,  as  I  say,  the  voice  was 
troubled,  and  wonderfully  sweet. 

And,  little  by  little,  it  seemed  that  it  grew  nearer,  this 
voice ;  was  it  descending  to  me  in  these  depths  of  blackness, 
or  was  I  being  lifted  up  to  the  heights  where,  I  knew,  black- 
ness could  not  be?  Ay,  indeed,  I  was  being  lifted,  for  I 
could  feel  a  hand  upon  my  brow  —  a  smooth,  cool  hand 
that  touched  my  cheek,  and  brushed  the  hair  from  my  fore- 
head; a  strong,  gentle  hand  it  was,  with  soft  fingers,  and 
it  was  lifting  me  up  and  up  from  the  loathly  depths  which 
seemed  more  black  and  more  horrible  the  farther  I  drew 
from  them. 

And  so  I  heard  the  voice  nearer,  and  ever  nearer,  until 
I  could  distinguish  words,  and  the  voice  had  tears  in  it, 
and  the  words  were  very  tender. 

"  Peter  —  speak !  —  speak  to  me,  Peter !  " 

"  Charmian  ?  "  said  I,  within  myself ;  "  why,  truly,  whose 
hand  but  hers  could  have  lifted  me  out  of  that  gulf  of 
death,  back  to  light  and  life?  "  Yet  I  did  not  speak  aloud, 
for  I  had  no  mind  to,  yet  a  while. 

"  Ah !  speak  to  me  —  speak  to  me,  Peter !  How  can 
you  lie  there  so  still  and  pale?  " 


350  The  Broad  Highway 

And  now  her  arms  were  about  me,  strong  and  protect- 
ing, and  my  head  was  drawn  down  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  —  my  Peter !  " 

Nay,  but  was  this  Charmian,  the  cold,  proud  Charmian? 
Truly  I  had  never  heard  that  thrill  in  her  voice  before  — 
could  this  indeed  be  Charmian?  And  lying  thus,  with  my 
head  on  this  sweet  pillow,  I  could  hear  her  heart  whispering 
to  me,  and  it  seemed  that  it  was  striving  to  tell  me  some- 
thing —  striving,  striving  to  tell  me  something,  could  I  but 
understand  —  ah !  could  I  but  understand ! 

"  I  waited  for  you  so  long  —  so  long,  Peter  —  and  — 
the  supper  is  all  spoiled  —  a  rabbit,  Peter  —  you  liked 
rabbit,  and  —  and  oh,  God !  I  want  you  —  don't  you  hear 
me,  Peter  —  I  want  you  —  want  you !  "  and  now  her  cheek 
was  pressed  to  mine,  and  her  lips  were  upon  my  hair,  and 
upon  my  brow  —  her  lips !  Was  this  indeed  Charmian, 
and  was  I  Peter  Vibart?  Ah,  if  I  could  but  know  what 
it  was  her  heart  was  trying  to  tell  me,  so  quickly  and 
passionately ! 

And  while  I  lay  listening,  listening,  something  hot 
splashed  down  upon  my  cheek,  and  then  another,  and  an- 
other; her  bosom  heaved  tumultuously,  and  instinctively, 
raising  my  arms,  I  clasped  them  about  her. 

"  Don't !  "  I  said,  and  my  voice  was  a  whisper ;  "  don't, 
Charmian !  " 

For  a  moment  her  clasp  tightened  about  me,  she  was  all 
tenderness  and  clinging  warmth;  then  I  heard  a  sudden 
gasp,  her  arms  loosened  and  fell  away,  and  so  I  presently 
raised  my  head,  and,  supporting  myself  upon  my  hand, 
looked  at  her.  And  then  I  saw  that  her  cheeks  were 
burning. 

"  Peter."  ti 

"Yes,  Charmian?" 

"  Did  you  —  "  She  paused,  plucking  nervously  at  the 
grass,  and  looking  away  from  me. 

"Well,  Charmian?" 

"  Did  you  —  hear  —  "  Again  she  broke  off,  and  still 
her  head  was  averted. 


How  I  Came  up  out  of  the  Dark     351 

**  I  heard  your  voice  calling  to  me  from  a  great  way  off, 
and  so  —  I  came,  Charmian." 

"  Were  you  conscious  when  —  when  I  —  found  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  I  was  lying  in  a  very  deep,  black 
pit."    Here  she  looked  at  me  again. 

"I  —  I  thought  you  —  were  —  dead,  Peter." 

"  My  soul  was  out  of  ray  body  —  until  you  recalled 
it." 

"  You  were  lying  upon  your  back,  by  the  hedge  here,  and 
—  oh,  Peter !  your  face  was  white  and  shining  in  the  moon- 
light —  and  there  was  —  blood  upon  it,  and  you  looked 
like  one  that  is  —  dead !  "  and  she  shivered. 

"  And  you  have  brought  me  back  to  life,"  said  I,  rising ; 
but,  being  upon  my  feet,  I  staggered  giddily,  to  hide  which, 
I  laughed,  and  leaned  against  a  tree.  "  Indeed,"  said  I, 
"  I  am  very  much  alive  still,  and  monstrously  hungry  — 
you  spoke  of  a  rabbit,  I  think  —  " 

"  A  rabbit !  "  said  Charmian  in  a  whisper,  and  as  I  met 
her  eye  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  recalled  that 
thoughtless  speech. 

"I  —  I  think  you  did  mention  a  rabbit,"  said  I,  floun- 
dering deeper. 

"  So,  then  —  you  deceived  me,  you  lay  there  and  de- 
ceived me  —  with  your  eyes  shut,  and  your  ears  open,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  my  pity  —  " 

"  No,  no  —  indeed,  no  —  I  thought  myself  still  dream- 
ing ;  it  —  it  all  seemed  so  unreal,  so  —  so  beyond  all 
belief  and  possibility  and  —  "  I  stopped,  aghast  at  my 
crass  folly,  for,  with  a  cry,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  while  I  stood  dumbfounded,  like  the 
fool  I  was.  When  she  looked  up,  her  eyes  seemed  to 
score!,  me. 

**  And  I  thought  Mr.  Vibart  a  man  of  honor  —  like  a 
knight  of  his  old-time  romances,  high  and  chivalrous  — 
oh !    I  thought  him  a  —  gentleman !  " 

"  Instead  of  which,"  said  I,  speaking  (as  it  were),  de- 
spite myself,  "  instead  of  which,  you  find  me  only  a  black- 
smith —  a  low,  despicable  fellow  eager  to  take  advantage 


352  The  Broad  Highway 

of  your  unprotected  womanhood."  She  did  not  speak, 
standing  tall  and  straight,  her  head  thrown  back;  where- 
fore, reading  her  scorn  of  me  in  her  eyes,  seeing  the  proud 
contempt  of  her  mouth,  a  very  demon  seemed  suddenly  to 
possess  me,  for  certainly  the  laugh  that  rang  from  my  lips 
proceeded  from  no  volition  of  mine. 

"  And  yet,  madam,"  my  voice  went  on,  "  this  despicable 
blacksmith  fellow  refused  one  hundred  guineas  for  you 
to-day." 

"  Peter !  "  she  cried,  and  shrank  away  from  me  as  if  I 
had  threatened  to  strike  her. 

"  Ah !  —  you  start  at  that  —  your  proud  lip  trembles 
—  do  not  fear,  madam  —  the  sum  did  not  tempt  him  — 
though  a  large  one." 

"  Peter !  "  she  cried  again,  and  now  there  was  a  note 
of  appeal  in  her  voice. 

"  Indeed,  madam,  even  so  degraded  a  fellow  as  this 
blacksmith  could  not  very  well  sell  that  which  he  does  not 
possess  —  could  he.'*  And  so  the  hundred  guineas  go 
a-begging,  and  you  are  still  —  unsold !  "  Long  before 
I  had  done  she  had  covered  her  face  again,  and,  coming 
near,  I  saw  the  tears  running  out  between  her  fingers  and 
sparkling  as  they  fell.  And  once  again  the  devil  within 
me  laughed  loud  and  harsh.  But,  while  it  still  echoed,  I 
had  flung  myself  down  at  her  feet. 

"  Charmian,"  I  cried,  "  forgive  me  —  you  will,  you 
must !  "  and,  kneeling  before  her,  I  strove  to  catch  her 
gown,  and  kiss  its  hem,  but  she  drew  it  close  about  her, 
and,  turning,  fled  from  me  through  the  shadows. 

Heedless  of  all  else  but  that  she  was  leaving  me,  I 
stumbled  to  my  feet  and  followed.  The  trees  seemed  to 
beset  me  as  I  ran,  and  bushes  to  reach  out  arms  to  stay 
me,  but  I  burst  from  them,  running  wildly,  blunderingly, 
for  she  was  going  —  Charmian  was  leaving  me.  And  so, 
spent  and  panting,  I  reached  the  cottage,  and  met  Char- 
mian at  the  door.  She  was  clad  in  the  long  cloak  she  had 
worn  when  she  came,  and  the  hood  was  drawn  close  about 
her  face. 


How  I  Came  up  out  of  the  Dark    353 

I  stood  panting  in  the  doorway,  barring  her  exit. 

"  Let  me  pass,  Peter." 

"  By  God  —  no !  "  I  cried,  and,  entering,  closed  the 
door,  and  leaned  my  back  against  it. 

And,  after  we  had  stood  thus  awhile,  each  looking  upon 
the  other,  I  reached  out  my  hands  to  her,  and  my  hands 
were  torn  and  bloody. 

"  Don't  go,  Charmian,"  I  mumbled,  "  don't  go !  Oh, 
Charmian  —  I  'm  hurt  —  I  did  n't  want  you  to  know,  but 
you  must  n't  leave  me  —  I  am  not  —  well ;  it  is  my  head, 
I  think.  I  met  Black  George,  and  he  was  too  strong  for 
me.  I  'm  deaf,  Charmian,  and  half  blinded  —  oh,  don't 
leave  me  —  I  'm  afraid,  Charmian !  "  Her  figure  grew 
more  blurred  and  indistinct,  and  I  sank  down  upon  my 
knees ;  but  in  the  dimness  I  reached  out  and  found  her 
hands,  and  clasped  them,  and  bowed  my  aching  head  upon 
them,  and  remained  thus  a  great  while,  as  it  seemed 
to  me. 

And  presently,  through  the  mist,  her  voice  reached  me. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  I  will  not  leave  you  —  lean  on  me  — 
there  —  there !  "  And,  little  by  little,  those  strong,  gentle 
hands  drew  me  up  once  more  to  light  and  life.  And  so  she 
got  me  to  a  chair,  and  brought  cool  water,  and  washed 
the  blood  and  sweat  from  me,  as  she  had  once  before,  only 
now  my  hurts  were  deeper,  for  my  head  grew  beyond  my 
strength  to  support,  and  hung  upon  my  breast,  and  my 
brain  throbbed  with  fire,  and  the  mist  was  ever  before  my 
eyes. 

"  Are  you  in  much  pain,  Peter .''  " 

"  My  head  —  only  my  head,  Charmian  —  there  is  a  bell 
ringing  there,  no  —  it  is  a  hammer,  beating."  And  indeed 
I  remembered  little  for  a  while,  save  the  touch  of  her 
hands  and  the  soothing  murmur  of  her  voice,  until  I  found 
she  was  kneeling  beside  me,  feeding  me  with  broth  from  a 
spoon.  Wherefore  I  presently  took  the  basin  from  her  and 
emptied  it  at  a  gulp,  and,  finding  myself  greatly  revived 
thereby,  made  some  shift  to  eat  of  the  supper  she  set 
before  me. 


354  ^  he  Broad  Highway 

So  she  presently  came  and  sat  beside  me  and  ate  also, 
watching  me  at  each  morsel. 

"  Your  poor  hands !  "  said  she,  and,  looking  down  at 
them,  I  saw  that  my  knuckles  were  torn  and  broken,  and 
the  fingers  much  swelled.  "  And  yet,"  said  Charmian,  *'  ex- 
cept for  the  cut  in  your  head,  you  are  quite  unmarked, 
Peter." 

"  He  fought  mostly  for  the  body,"  I  answered,  "  and 
I  managed  to  keep  my  face  out  of  the  way ;  but  he  caught 
me  twice  —  once  upon  the  chin,  lightly,  and  once  up  behind 
the  ear,  heavily ;  had  his  fist  landed  fairly  I  don't  think 
even  you  could  have  brought  me  back  from  those  loathly 
depths,  Charmian." 

And  in  a  while,  supper  being  done,  she  brought  my  pipe, 
and  filled  it,  and  held  the  light  for  me.  But  my  head 
throbbed  woefully  and  for  once  the  tobacco  was  flavorless ; 
so  I  sighed,  and  laid  the  pipe  by. 

*'  Why,  Peter !  "  said  Charmian,  regarding  me  with  an 
anxious  frown,  "  can't  you  smoke?  " 

"  Not  just  now,  Charmian,"  said  I,  and  leaning  my 
head  in  my  hands,  fell  into  a  sort  of  coma,  till,  feeling  her 
touch  upon  my  shoulder,  I  started,  and  looked  up. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,  Peter." 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"  Very  well,  Charmian,  yes  —  I  will  go  to  bed,"  and  I 
rose. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  now,  Peter.?  " 

"  Thank  you,  yes  —  much  better." 

"  Then  why  do  you  hold  on  to  the  chair.?  " 

"  I  am  still  a  little  giddy  —  but  it  wiU  pass."  And  — 
*'  Charmian  —  you  forgive  —  " 

"  Yes  —  yes,  don't  —  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Peter 
—  and  —  oh,  good  night !  —  foolish  boy !  " 

"  I  am  —  twenty-five,  Charmian  !  "  But  as  she  turned 
away  I  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Dressed  as  I  was,  I  lay  down  upon  my  bed,  and,  bury- 
ing my  head  in  the  pillow,  groaned,  for  my  pain  was  very 


How  I  Came  up  out  of  the  Dark    355 

sore;  Indeed  I  was  to  feel  the  effects  of  George's  fist  for 
many  a  day  to  come,  and  it  seems  to  me  now  that  much  of 
the  morbid  imaginings,  the  nightly  horrors,  and  black  de- 
spair, that  I  endured  in  the  time  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed, was  chiefly  owing  to  that  terrible  blow  upon  the 
head. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

OF    THE    OPENING    OF    THE    DOOR,    AND    HOW    CHAEMIAN 
BLEW    OUT    THE    LIGHT 

He  bestrode  a  powerful  black  charger,  and  his  armor  glit- 
tered through  the  green.  And,  as  he  rode  beneath  the 
leafy  arches  of  the  wood,  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  sang, 
and  the  song  was  mournful,  and  of  a  plaintive  seeming,  and 
rang  loud  behind  his  visor-bars ;  therefore,  as  I  sat  beside 
the  freshet,  I  hearkened  to  his  song: 

"  For  her  love  I  carke,  and  care. 
For  her  love  I  droop,  and  dare. 
For  her  love  my  bliss  is  bare. 
And  I  wax  wan! " 

Forth  he  rode  from  the  shadowy  woodland,  pacing  very 
solemn  and  slow;  and  thrice  he  struck  his  iron  hand  upon 
his  iron  breast. 

**  For  her  love,  in  sleep  I  slake. 
For  her  love,  all  night  I  wake. 
For  her  love,  I  mourning  make. 
More  than  any  man! " 

Now,  being  come  to  where  I  sat  beside  the  brook,  he 
checked  his  horse,  and  gazed  full  long  upon  me,  and  his 
eyes  shone  from  the  gloom  of  his  helmet. 

"  Messire,"  quoth  he;   "  how  like  you  my  song?  " 

"  But  little,  sir  —  to  be  plain  with  you,  not  a  whit,"  I 
answered. 

"  And,  beseech  you  —  wherefore .''  " 

"  Because  it  is  folly  —  away  with  it,  for,  if  your  head 
be  full  of  such,  how  shall  you  achieve  any  lasting  good  — 


of  the  Opening  of  the  Door     357 

Glory,  Learning,  Power?  "  But,  sighing,  he  shook  his 
head ;   quoth  he : 

"  O  Blind  One !  —  Glory  is  but  a  name.  Learning  but  a 
yearning  emptiness,  and  whither  leadeth  Ambition?  Man 
is  a  mote  dancing  in  a  sun-ray  —  the  world,  a  speck  hang- 
ing in  space.  All  things  vanish  and  pass  utterly  away  save 
only  True-love,  and  that  abideth  everlastingly ;  't  is  sweeter 
than  Life,  and  stronger  than  Death,  and  reacheth  up  be- 
yond the  stars ;  and  thus  it  is  I  pray  you  tell  me  —  where 
is  she  ?  " 

"  She?  » 

"  She  whom  ye  love?  " 

"  I  love  no  woman,"  said  I. 

"  Liar !  "  cried  he,  in  a  terrible  voice,  and  the  voice  was 
the  voice  of  Black  George. 

"  And  who  are  you  that  says  so  ?  "  I  demanded,  and 
stood  upon  my  feet. 

"  Look  —  behold  and  know  thyself,  O  Blind  and  more 
than  blind !  "  And,  leaning  down,  he  raised  his  visor  so 
that  the  moonlight  fell  upon  his  face,  and  the  face  I  looked 
upon  was  —  my  own ;  and,  while  I  gazed,  he  lifted  up  his 
voice,  and  cried: 

"  Ye  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I  charge  ye  —  who  is  he  that 
rideth  in  the  green,  dreaming  ever  of  her  beauty,  and  sigh- 
ing forth  his  love  everlastingly,  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I 
charge  ye?  " 

And  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  wood,  from  every  rustling 
leaf  and  opening  bud,  came  a  little  voice  that  rose  and 
blended  in  a  soft,  hushed  chorus,  crying: 

"  Peter  Vibart  —  Peter  Vibart !  " 

"  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I  charge  ye  —  who  is  he  that 
walketh  to  and  fro  in  the  world,  and  having  eyes,  seeth  not, 
and  ears,  heareth  not  —  a  very  Fool  of  Love?*' 

Once  again  the  voices  cried  in  answer : 

"  Peter  Vibart !  —  Peter  Vibart !  " 

"  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I  charge  ye  —  who  is  he  that  shall 
love  with  a  love  mightier  than  most  —  who  shall  suffer 
greatly  for  love  and  because  of  it  —  who  shall  think  of  it 


358  The  Broad  Highway 

by  day,  and  dream  of  it  o'  nights  —  who  is  he  that  must 
die  to  find  love  and  the  fulness  of  life?  —  O  Spirits  of  the 
Wood,  I  charge  ye !  *' 

And  again  from  out  the  green  came  the  soft,  hushed 
chorus : 

"  Peter  Vibart  —  Peter  Vibart !  " 

But,  even  as  I  laughed,  came  one  from  the  wood,  with  a 
horse  and  armor.  And  the  armor  he  girded  on  me,  and  the 
horse  I  mounted.  And  there,  in  the  moonlit  glade,  we 
fought,  and  strove  together,  my  Other  Self  and  I.  And, 
sudden  and  strong  he  smote  me,  so  that  I  fell  down  from 
my  horse,  and  lay  there  dead,  with  my  blood  soaking  and 
soaking  into  the  grass.  And,  as  I  watched,  there  came  a 
blackbird  that  perched  upon  my  breast,  carolling  glori- 
ously. Yet,  little  by  little,  this  bird  changed,  and  lo!  in 
its  place  was  a  new  Peter  Vibart  standing  upon  the  old ;  and 
the  New  trampled  the  Old  down  into  the  grass,  and  —  it 
was  gone.  Then,  with  his  eyes  on  the  stars,  the  new  Peter 
Vibart  fell  a-singing,  and  the  words  I  sang  were  these: 

"  For  her  love  I  carke,  and  care,  ' 

For  her  love  I  droop,  and  dare. 
For  her  love  my  bliss  is  bare. 
And  I  wax  wan!  " 

And  thus  there  came  into  my  heart  that  which  had  been 
all  unknown  —  undreamed  of  hitherto,  yet  which,  once 
there,  could  never  pass  away. 

"  O  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I  charge  ye  —  who  is  he  that 
counteth  True-love  sweeter  than  Life  —  greater  than  Wis- 
dom —  stronger  than  Death .''  O  Spirits  of  the  Wood,  I 
charge  ye !  " 

And  the  hushed  voices  chorused  softly. 

"Peter  Vibart  —  Peter  Vibart!"  And,  while  I  lis- 
tened, one  by  one  the  voices  ceased,  till  there  but  one  re- 
mained —  calling,  calling,  but  ever  soft  and  far  away,  and 
when  I  would  have  gone  toward  this  voice  —  lo !  there 
stood  a  knife  quivering  in  the  ground  before  me,  that  grew 
and  grew  until  its  haft  touched  heaven,  yet  still  the  voice 
called  upon  my  name  very  softly: 


of  the  Opening  of  the  Door      359 

"  Peter !  —  Peter !  —  oh,  Peter,  I  want  you !  —  oh, 
Peter !  —  wake !  wake !  "  I  sat  up  in  bed,  and,  as  I  lis- 
tened, grew  suddenly  sick,  and  a  fit  of  trembling  shook  me 
violently,  for  the  whisper  was  still  in  my  ears,  and  in  the 
whisper  was  an  agony  of  fear  and  dread  indescribable. 

"  Peter !  —  oh,  Peter,  I  am  afraid !  —  wake !    wake !  " 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  me  and  I  glared  helplessly 
towards  the  door. 

"  Quick,  Peter !  —  come  to  me  —  oh,  God !  " 

I  strove  to  move,  but  still  I  could  not.  And  now,  in  the 
darkness,  hands  were  shaking  me  wildly,  and  Charmian's 
voice  was  speaking  in  my  ear. 

"  The  door !  "  it  whispered,  "  the  door !  " 

Then  I  arose,  and  was  in  the  outer  room,  with  Charmian 
close  beside  me  in  the  dark,  and  my  eyes  were  upon  the 
door.  And  then  I  beheld  a  strange  thing,  for  a  thin  line 
of  white  light  traversed  the  floor  from  end  to  end.  Now, 
as  I  watched  this  narrow  line,  I  saw  that  it  was  gradually 
widening  and  widening;  very  slowly,  and  with  infinite 
caution,  the  door  was  being  opened  from  without.  In  this 
remote  place,  in  this  still,  dead  hour  of  the  night,  full  of 
the  ghostly  hush  that  ever  precedes  the  dawn  —  there  was 
something  devilish  —  something  very  like  murder  in  its 
stealthy  motion.  I  heard  Charmian's  breath  catch,  and, 
in  the  dark,  her  hand  came  and  crept  into  mine  and  her 
fingers  were  cold  as  death. 

And  now  a  great  anger  came  upon  me,  and  I  took  a 
quick  step  forward,  but  Charmian  restrained  me. 

"  No,  Peter !  "  she  breathed ;  "  not  yet  —  wait !  "  and 
wound  her  arms  round  mine. 

In  a  corner  near  by  stood  that  same  trusty  staff  that 
had  been  the  companion  of  my  wanderings,  and  now  I 
reached,  and  took  it  up,  balancing  it  in  my  hand.  And  all 
the  time  I  watched  that  line  of  light  upon  the  floor  widen- 
ing and  widening,  growing  ever  broader  and  more  broad. 
The  minutes  dragged  slowly  by,  while  the  line  grew  into 
a  streak,  and  the  streak  into  a  lane,  and  upon  the  lane 
came  a  blot  that  slowly  resolved  itself  into  the  shadow  of 


360  The  Broad  Highway 

a  hand  upon  the  latch.  Slowly,  slowly,  to  the  hand  came 
a  wrist,  and  to  the  wrist  an  arm  —  another  minute,  and 
this  maddening  suspense  would  be  over.  Despite  Char- 
mian's  restraining  clasp,  I  crept  a  long  pace  nearer  the 
softly  moving  door. 

The  sharp  angle  of  the  elbow  was  growing  obtuse  as 
the  shadowy  arm  straightened  itself.  Thirty  seconds 
more!  I  began  to  count,  and,  gripping  my  staff,  braced 
myself  for  what  might  be,  when  —  with  a  sudden  cry, 
Charmian  sprang  forward,  and,  hurling  herself  against 
the  door,  shut  it  with  a  crash. 

"  Quick,  Peter !  "  she  panted.  I  was  beside  her  almost 
as  she  spoke,  and  had  my  hand  upon  the  latch. 

"  I  must  see  who  this  was,"  said  I. 

"  You  are  mad !  "  she  cried. 

"  Let  me  open  the  door,  Charmian." 

"  No,  no  —  I  say  no !  " 

"  Whoever  it  was  must  not  escape  —  open  the  door !  " 

"  Never !  never  —  I  tell  you  —  death  is  outside  — 
there's  murder  in  the  very  air;  I  feel  it  —  and  —  dear 
God  —  the  door  has  no  bolt." 

"  They  are  gone  now  —  whoever  they  were,"  said  I  re- 
assuringly ;  "  the  danger  is  over  —  if  danger  it  could  be 
called." 

"  Danger !  "  cried  Charmian.  "  I  tell  you  —  it  was 
death." 

"  Yet,  after  all,  it  may  have  been  only  some  homeless 
wanderer." 

"  Then  why  that  deadly,  silent  caution  ?  " 

"  True !  "  said  I,  becoming  thoughtful. 

"  Bring  the  table,  Peter,  and  set  it  across  the  door." 

"  Surely  the  table  is  too  light  to  —  " 

"  But  it  will  give  sufficient  warning  —  not  that  I  shall 
sleep  again  to-night.  Oh,  Peter !  had  I  not  been  dream- 
ing, and  happened  to  wake  —  had  I  not  chanced  to  look 
towards  the  door,  it  would  have  opened  —  wide,  and  then 
—  oh,  horrible !  " 

"  You  were  dreaming.''  " 


of  the  Opening  of  the  Door      361 

"  A  hateful,  hateful  dream,  and  awoke  in  terror,  and, 
being  afraid,  glanced  towards  the  door,  and  saw  it  open- 
ing —  and  now  —  bring  the  table,  Peter." 

Now,  groping  about,  my  hand  encountered  one  of  the 
candles,  and  taking  out  my  tinder-box,  all  unthinking,  I 
lighted  it. 

Charmian  was  leaning  against  the  door,  clad  in  a  flowing 
white  garment  —  a  garment  that  was  wonderfully  stitched 
—  all  dainty  frills  and  laces,  with  here  and  there  a  bow  of 
blue  riband,  disposed,  it  would  seem,  by  the  hand  of 
chance,  and  yet  most  wonderfully.  And  up  from  this  foam 
of  laces  her  shoulders  rose,  white,  and  soft,  and  dimpled, 
sweeping  up  in  noble  lines  to  the  smooth  round  column 
of  her  throat.  But  as  I  stared  at  all  this  loveliness  she 
gave  a  sudden  gasp,  and  stooped  her  head,  and  crossed  her 
hands  upon  her  bosom,  while  up  over  the  snow  of  shoul- 
der, over  neck  and  cheek  and  brow  ebbed  that  warm,  crim- 
son tide ;  and  I  could  only  gaze  and  gaze  —  till,  with  a 
movement  swift  and  light,  she  crossed  to  that  betraying 
candle  and,  stooping,  blew  out  the  light. 

Then  I  set  the  table  across  the  door,  having  done  which 
I  stood  looking  towards  where  she  yet  stood. 

"  Charmian,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"  To-morrow  —  " 

"Yes,  Peter.?" 

"  I  will  make  a  bar  to  hold  the  door." 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"  Two  bars  would  be  better,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Peter." 

"  You  would  feel  safe,  then  —  safer  than  ever?  " 

"  Safer  than  ever,  Peter." 


CHAPTER    XXII 

IN    WHICH    THE    ANCIENT    DISCOURSES    ON    LOVE 

I  AM  forging  a  bar  for  my  cottage  door :  such  a  bar  as 
might  give  check  to  an  army,  or  resist  a  battering-ram ; 
a  bar  that  shall  defy  all  the  night-prowlers  that  ever 
prowled;  a  stout,  solid  bar,  broad  as  my  wrist,  and  thick 
as  my  two  fingers ;  that,  looking  upon  it  as  it  lies  in  its 
sockets  across  the  door,  Charmian  henceforth  may  sleep 
and  have  no  fear. 

The  Ancient  sat  perched  on  his  stool  in  the  corner,  but 
for  once  we  spoke  little,  for  I  was  very  busy ;  also  my  mind 
was  plunged  in  a  profound  reverie. 

And  of  whom  should  I  be  thinking  but  of  Charmian,  and 
of  the  dimple  in  her  shoulder? 

"  'T  is  bewitched  you  be,  Peter !  "  said  the  old  man  sud- 
denly, prodding  me  softly  with  his  stick,  "  bewitched  as 
ever  was,"  and  he  chuckled. 

"  Bewitched !  "  said  I,  starting. 

"  Ah !  —  theer  you  stand  wi'  your  'ammer  in  your  'and  — 
a-starin'  an'  a-starin'  at  nobody,  nor  nothin'  —  leastways 
not  as  'uman  eye  can  see,  an'  a-sighin',  an'  a-sighin'  —  " 

"  Did  I  indeed  sigh.  Ancient  ?  " 

"  Ah  —  that  ye  did  —  like  a  cow,  Peter,  or  a  'orse  — 
'eavy  an'  tired  like.  An'  slow  you  be,  an'  dreamy  —  you  as 
was  so  bright  an'  spry ;  theer  's  some  —  fools,  like  Joel 
Amos,  as  might  think  as  't  were  the  work  o'  ghostes,  or 
demons,  a-castin'  their  spells  on  ye,  or  that  some  vampire 
'ad  bit  ye  in  the  night,  an'  sucked  your  blood  as  ye  lay 
asleep,  but  I  know  different — you 'm  just  bewitched, 
Peter !  "  and  he  chuckled  again. 


The  Ancient  Discourses  on  Love    363 

"  Who  knows  ?  —  perhaps  I  am,  but  it  will  pass,  what- 
ever it  is,  it  will  pass  —  " 

"  Don't  ye  be  too  sui'e  o'  that  —  theer  's  bewitchments 
an'  bewitchments,  Peter." 

Hereupon  the  smithy  became  full  of  the  merry  din  of 
my  hammer,  and  while  I  worked  the  Ancient  smoked  his 
pipe  and  watched  me,  informing  me,  between  whiles,  that 
the  Jersey  cow  was  "  in  calf,"  that  the  hops  seemed  more 
than  usually  forward,  and  that  he  had  waked  that  morn- 
ing with  a  "  touch  o'  the  rheumatics,"  but,  otherwise,  he 
was  unusually  silent ;  moreover,  each  time  that  I  happened 
to  glance  up,  it  was  to  find  him  regarding  me  with  a  certain 
fixity  of  eye,  which  at  another  time  would  have  struck  me 
as  portentous. 

"  Ye  be  palish  this  marnin',  Peter !  "  said  he,  dabbing 
at  me  suddenly  with  his  pipe-stem ;  "  should  n't  wonder  if 
you  was  to  tell  me  as  your  appetite  was  bad;  come  now 
—  ye  did  n't  eat  much  of  a  breakfus'  this  marnin',  did 
ye.?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  did,  Ancient." 

"  A  course  not !  "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  nod  of  pro- 
found approval  —  "  it  are  n't  to  be  expected.  Let 's  see, 
it  be  all  o'  four  months  since  I  found  ye,  bean't  it.''  " 

"  Four  months  and  a  few  odd  days,"  I  nodded,  and  fell 
to  work  upon  my  glowing  iron  bar. 

"  Ye  '11  make  a  tidy  smith  one  o'  these  days,  Peter,"  said 
the  old  man  encouragingly,  as  I  straightened  my  back  and 
plunged  the  iron  back  into  the  fire. 

"  Thank  you.  Ancient." 

"  Ay  —  you  've  larned  to  use  a  'ammer  purty  well,  con- 
siderin',  though  you  be  wastin'  your  opportoonities  shame- 
ful, Peter,  shameful." 

"  Am  I,  Ancient.?  " 

"  Ay,  that  ye  be  —  moon  can't  last  much  longer  —  she 
be  on  the  wane  a'ready !  " 

"  Moon  ?  "  said  I,  staring. 

"  Ah,  moon !  "  nodded  the  old  man ;  "  theer  's  nowt  like 
a  moon,  Peter,  an'  if  she  be  at  the  full  so  much  the  better.'* 


364  The  Broad  Highway 

"  But  what  have  the  moon  and  I  to  do  with  each  other, 
Ancient?  " 

"  Old  I  be,  Peter,  a  old,  old  man,  but  I  were  young 
once,  an'  I  tell  'ee  the  moon  'as  a  lot  more  to  do  wi'  it  than 
some  folks  think  —  why,  Lord  love  'ee !  theer  would  n't 
be  near  so  many  children  a-playin'  in  the  sun  if  it  was  n't 
for  the  moon !  " 

"  Ancient,"  said  I,  "  what  might  you  be  driving  at?  " 

"  Love,  Peter !  " 

"  Love !  "  said  I,  letting  go  the  handle  of  the  bellows. 

"  An'  marriage,  Peter," 

"  What  in  the  world  —  put  —  such  thoughts  into  your 
head?  " 

"  You  did,  Peter." 

"  I?  " 

"  Ah !  —  some  men  is  born  lovers,  Peter,  an'  you  be  one. 
I  never  see  such  eyes  as  yourn  afore,  so  burnin'  'ot  they 
be.  Ah,  Peter !  some  maid  will  see  the  lovelight  aflame  in 
'em  some  day,  an'  droop  'er  'ead  an'  blush  an'  tremble  — 
for  she  '11  know,  Peter,  she  '11  know ;  maids  was  made  to 
be  loved,  Peter  —  " 

"  But,  Ancient,  I  am  not  the  kind  of  man  women  would 
be  attracted  by.  I  love  books  and  solitude,  and  am  called 
a  —  pedant !   and,  besides,  I  am  not  of  a  loving  sort  —  " 

"  Some  men,  Peter,  falls  in  love  as  easy  as  they  falls  out ; 
it  comes  to  some  soft  an'  quiet  —  like  the  dawn  of  a  sum- 
mer's day,  Peter;  but  to  others  it  comes  like  a  gert  an' 
tur'ble  storm  —  oh,  that  it  do !  Theer  's  a  fire  ready  to  bum 
up  inside  o'  ye  at  the  touch  o'  some  woman's  'and,  or  the 
peep  o'  'er  eye  —  ah !  a  fire  as  '11  burn,  an'  burn,  an'  never 
go  out  again  —  not  even  if  you  should  live  to  be  as  old  as 
I  be  —  an'  you  '11  be  strong  an'  wild  an'  fierce  wi'  it  —r  an' 
some  day  you  '11  find  'er,  Peter,  an'  she  '11  find  you  —  " 

"  And,"  said  I,  staring  away  into  the  distance,  "  do  you 
think  that,  by  any  possible  chance,  she  might  love  me,  this 
woman?  " 

"  Ay,  for  sure,"  said  the  Ancient,  "  for  sure  she  will ; 
why  don't  'ee  up  an  ax  'er?    Wi'  a  fine,  round  moon  over- 


The  Ancient  Discourses  on  Love  365 

'ead,  an'  a  pretty  maid  at  your  elber,  it 's  easy  enough  to 
tell  'er  you  love  'er,  aren't  it?" 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  said  I,  beginning  to  rub  my  chin,  "  very 
easy !  "  and  I  sighed. 

"  An'  when  you  looks  into  a  pair  o'  sweet  eyes,  an'  sees 
the  shine  o'  the  moon  in  'em  —  why,  it  are  n't  so  very  fur 
to  'er  lips,  are  it,  Peter?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  rubbing  my  chin  harder  than  ever ;  "  no 
—  and  there  's  the  danger  of  it." 

"  Wheer  's  t'  danger,  Peter?  " 

"  Everywhere !  "  I  answered ;  "  in  her  eyes,  in  her  thick, 
soft  hair,  the  warmth  of  her  breath,  the  touch  of  her  hand, 
the  least  contact  of  her  garments  —  her  very  step !  " 

"I  knowed  it!"  cried  the  Ancient  joyfully,  peering  at 
me  under  his  brows ;  "  I  knowed  it !  " 

"Knew  what?" 

"  You  be  in  love  —  good  lad !  good  lad !  "  and  he  flour- 
ished his  pipe  in  the  air. 

"  In  love !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  in  love  —  I  ?  " 

"  Sure  as  sure !  " 

"  But  love,  according  to  Aristotle,  is  —  " 

"  Love,  Peter,  is  what  makes  a  man  forget  'is  breakfus', 
an'  'is  work,  an'  'is  —  " 

"  But  I  work  very  hard  —  besides  —  " 

"  Love  is  what  makes  a  man  so  brave  as  a  lion,  Peter, 
an'  fall  a-tremblin'  like  a  coward  when  She  stands  a-lookin' 
up  at  'im;  love  makes  the  green  earth  greener,  an'  the 
long  road  short  —  ah !  almost  too  short,  sometimes,  the 
love  of  a  woman  comes  betwixt  a  man  an'  all  evils  an' 
dangers  —  why  don't  'ee  up  an'  ax  'er,  Peter?" 

"  She  'd  laugh  at  me,  Ancient." 

"  Not  she." 

"  That  soft,  low  laugh  of  hers." 

"Well,  what  o'  that?" 

"  Besides,  she  hardly  knows  me !  " 

The  Ancient  took  out  his  snuff-box  and  gave  two  loud 
double  knocks  upon  the  lid. 

"  A  woman  knows  a  man  sooner  than  a  man  knows  a 


366  The  Broad  Highway 

woman  —  ah,  a  sight  sooner !  Why,  Lord  bless  ye,  Peter, 
she  'as  'ira  all  reckoned  up  long  afore  'e  knows  for  sure  if 
'er  eyes  be  black  'uns  or  brown  'uns  —  that  she  'as."  Here 
he  extracted  a  pinch  of  snuff.  "  As  for  Prudence  —  she 
loves  'ee  wi'  all  'er  'eart  an'  soul !  " 

"  Prudence.''  "  said  I,  staring. 

"  Ah !   Prudence  —  I  be  'er  grandfeyther,  an'  I  know." 

*'  Prudence !  "  said  I  again. 

"  She  'm  a  'andsome  lass,  an'  so  pretty  as  a  picter  — 
you  said  so  yourself,  an'  what 's  more,  she  'm  a  sensible 
lass,  an'  '11  make  ye  as  fine  a  wife  as  ever  was  if  only  —  " 

"  If  only  she  loved  me.  Ancient." 

"  To  be  sure,  Peter." 

"  But,  you  see,  she  does  n't." 

"  Eh  —  what  ?     What,  Peter  ?  " 

"  Prudence  does  n't  love  me !  " 

"  Does  n't  —  " 

"  Not  by  any  means." 

"  Peter  —  ye  're  jokin'." 

"  No,  Ancient." 

"  But  I  —  I  be  all  took  aback  —  mazed  I  be  —  not  love 
ye,  an'  me  wi'  my  'eart  set  on  it  —  are  ye  sure.f*  " 

"  Certain." 

"'Ow  d'ye  know.?" 

"  She  told  me  so." 

"  But  —  why  —  why  should  n't  she  love  ye  ?  " 

"Why  should  she.?" 

"  But  I  —  I  'd  set  my  'eart  on  it,  Peter." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate !  "  said  I,  and  began  blowing 
up  the  fire. 

"  Peter." 

"  Yes,  Ancient.?  " 

"Do  'ee  love  she?" 

"  No,  Ancient."  The  old  man  rose,  and,  hobbling  for- 
ward, tapped  me  upon  the  breast  with  the  handle  of  his 
stick. 

"  Then  who  was  you  a-talkin'  of,  a  while  back  —  'bout 
'er  eyes,  an'  'er  'air,  an'  'er  dress,  an'  bein'  afraid  o'  them.?  " 


The  Ancient  Discourses  on  Love    367 

"  To  be  exact,  I  don't  know,  Ancient." 

"Oh,  Peter!  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head, 
"  I  wonders  at  ye ;  arter  me  a-thinkin'  an'  a-thinkin', 
an'  a-plannin'  an'  a-plannin'  all  these  months  —  arter  me 
a-sendin'  Black  Jarge  about  'is  business  —  " 

"  Ancient,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  did  n't  I  out  an'  tell  un  as  you  was  sweet  on 
Prue  —  " 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that?  "  I  cried. 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure  I  did ;  an'  what 's  more,  I  says  to  un 
often  an'  often,  when  you  was  n't  by :  '  Jarge,'  I  'd  say, 
'  Prue  's  a  lovely  maid,  an'  Peter  's  a  fine  young  chap,  an' 
they  'm  beginnin'  to  find  each  other  out,  they  be  all'us 
a-talkin'  to  each  other  an'  a-lookin'  at  each  other,  mornin', 
noon  an'  night ! '  I  says ; '  like  as  not  we  '11  'ave  'em  marryin' 
each  other  afore  very  long! '  an'  Jarge  'ud  just  wrinkle  up 
'is  brows,  an'  walk  away,  an'  never  say  a  word.  But  now 
—  it  be  tur'ble  'ard  to  be  disapp'inted  like  this,  Peter  — 
arter  I  'd  set  my  'eart  on  it  —  an'  me  such  a  old  man  — 
such  a  very  ancient  man.  Oh,  Peter !  you  be  full  o'  dis- 
app'intments,  an'  all  manner  o'  contrairiness ;  sometimes 
I  a'most  wishes  as  I  'd  never  took  the  trouble  to  find  ye 
at  all !  " 

And,  with  this  Parthian  shot,  the  old  man  sighed,  and 
turned  his  back  upon  me,  and  tottered  out  of  the  forge. 


CHAPTER    XXra 

HOW   GABBING   DICK,   THE    PEDLER,    SET   A   HAMMER    GOING 
IN    MY    HEAD 

Having  finished  my  bars,  with  four  strong  brackets  to  hold 
them,  I  put  away  my  tools,  and  donned  hat  and  coat. 

It  was  yet  early,  and  there  was,  besides,  much  work  wait- 
ing to  be  done,  but  I  felt  unwontedly  tired  and  out  of  sorts, 
wherefore,  with  my  bars  and  brackets  beneath  my  ann,  I 
set  out  for  the  Hollow. 

From  the  hedges,  on  either  side  of  me,  came  the  sweet 
perfume  of  the  honeysuckle,  and  beyond  the  hedges  the 
fields  stood  high  with  ripening  corn  —  a  yellow,  heavy- 
headed  host,  nodding  and  swaying  lazily.  I  stood  awhile 
to  listen  to  its  whisper  as  the  gentle  wind  swept  over  it,  and 
to  look  down  the  long  green  alleys  of  the  hop-gardens 
beyond ;  and  at  the  end  of  one  of  these  straight  arched 
vistas  there  shone  a  solitary,  great  star. 

And  presently,  lifting  my  eyes  to  the  sky,  already  deep- 
ening to  evening,  and  remembering  how  I  had  looked  round 
me  ere  I  faced  Black  George,  I  breathed  a  sigh  of  thank- 
fulness that  I  was  yet  alive  with  strength  to  walk  within 
a  world  so  beautiful. 

Now,  as  I  stood  thus,  I  heard  a  voice  hailing  me,  and, 
glancing  about,  espied  one,  some  distance  up  the  road,  who 
sat  beneath  the  hedge,  whom,  upon  approaching,  I  recog- 
nized as  Gabbing  Dick,  the  Pedler, 

He  nodded  and  grinned  as  I  came  up,  but  in  both  there 
was  a  vague  unpleasantness,  as  also  in  the  manner  in  which 
he  eyed  me  slowly  up  and  down. 


Gabbing  Dick,  the  Pedler      369 

"  You  've  stood  a-lookin'  up  into  the  sky  for  a  good  ten 
minutes !  "  said  he. 

"And  what  if  I  have?" 

"  Nothin',"  said  the  Pedler,  "  nothin'  at  all  —  though  if 
the  moon  'ad  been  up,  a  cove  might  ha'  thought  as  you  was 
dreamin'  of  some  Eve  or  other ;  love-sick  folk  always  stares 
at  the  moon  —  leastways,  so  they  tell  me.  Any  one  as  stares 
at  the  moon  when  'e  might  be  doin'  suram'at  better  is  a  fool, 
as  great  a  fool  as  any  man  as  stares  at  a  Eve,  for  a  Eve 
never  brought  any  man  nothin'  but  trouble  and  sorrer,  and 
never  will,  no'ow?  Don't  frown,  young  cove,  nor  shake 
your  'ead,  for  it 's  true ;  wot 's  caused  more  sorrer  an'  blood 
than  them  Eves .''  Blood  ?  —  ah !  rivers  of  it !  Oceans  of 
good  blood  's  been  spilt  all  along  o'  women,  from  the  Eve 
as  tricked  old  Adam  to  the  Eve  as  tricks  the  like  o'  me,  or 
say  —  yourself."  Here  he  regarded  me  with  so  evil  a  leer 
that  I  turned  my  back  in  disgust. 

"  Don't  go,  young  cove ;  I  ain't  done  yet,  and  I  got 
summ'at  to  tell  ye." 

"  Then  tell  it ! "  said  I,  stopping  again,  struck  by  the 
fellow's  manner,  "  and  tell  it  quickly." 

"  I  'm  a-comin'  to  it  as  fast  as  I  can,  ain't  I .''  Very  well 
then !  You  're  a  fine,  up-standin'  young  cove,  and  may  'ave 
white  'ands  (which  I  don't  see  myself,  but  no  matter)  and 
may  likewise  be  chock-full  o'  taking  ways  (which,  though 
not  noticin',  I  won't  go  for  to  deny)  —  but  a  Eve  's  a  Eve, 
and  always  will  be  —  you  '11  mind  as  I  warned  you  again' 
'em  last  time  I  see  ye?  —  very  well  then !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  I  impatiently. 

"  Well,"  nodded  the  Pedler,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  malevo- 
lently. "  I  says  it  again  —  I  warns  you  again.  You  're 
a  nice,  civil-spoke  young  cove,  and  quiet  (though  I  don't 
like  the  cock  o'  your  eye),  and,  mind,  I  don't  bear  you  no 
ill'will  —  though  you  did  turn  me  from  your  door  on  a  cold, 
dark  night  —  " 

"  It  was  neither  a  cold  nor  a  dark  night !  "  said  I. 

"  Well,  it  might  ha'  been,  might  n't  it?  —  very  well  then  ! 
Still,  I  don't,"  said  the  Pedler,  spitting  dejectedly  into  the 


370  The  Broad  Highway 

ditch,  "  I  don't  bear  you  no  'ard  feelin's  for  it,  no'ow  —  me 
always  makin'  it  a  pint  to  forgive  them  as  woefully  op- 
presses me,  likewise  them  as  despitefully  uses  me  —  it  might 
ha'  been  cold,  and  dark,  wi'  ice  and  snow,  and  I  might  ha' 
froze  to  death  —  but  we  won't  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  You  've  said  pretty  well,  I  think,"  said  I ;  "  supposing 
you  tell  me  what  you  have  to  tell  me  —  otherwise  —  good 
night ! " 

"  Very  well  then !  "  said  the  Pedler,  "  let 's  talk  o'  sum- 
m'at  else;   still  livin'  in  the  'Oiler,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah,  well !  I  come  through  there  today,"  said  he,  grin- 
ning, and  again  his  eyes  grew  malevolent. 

"Indeed.?" 

"  Ah !  —  indeed !  I  come  through  this  'ere  very  arter- 
noon,  and  uncommon  pretty  everythin'  was  lookin',  wi'  the 
grass  so  green,  and  the  trees  so  —  so  —  " 

"  Shady." 

"  Shady  's  the  word !  "  nodded  the  Pedler,  glancing  up  at 
me  through  his  narrowed  eyelids,  and  chuckling.  "  A  para- 
dise you  might  call  it  —  ah !  a  paradise  or  a  —  garden  of 
Eden,  wi'  Eve  and  the  serpent  and  all !  "  and  he  broke  out 
into  a  cackling  laugh.  And,  in  the  look  and  the  laugh,  in- 
deed about  his  whole  figure,  there  was  something  so  repel- 
lent, so  evil,  that  I  was  minded  to  kick  and  trample  him 
down  into  the  ditch,  yet  the  leering  triumph  in  his  eyes 
held  me. 

"Yes.?  "said  I. 

"  Ye  see,  bein'  by,  I  'appened  to  pass  the  cottage  —  and 
very  pretty  that  looked  too,  and  nice  and  neat  inside !  " 

"Yes.?"  said  I. 

"  And,  bein'  so  near,  I  'appened  to  glance  in  at  the 
winder,  and  there,  sure  enough,  I  see  —  'er  —  as  you 
might  say.  Eve  in  the  gardin.  And  a  fine  figure  of  a  Eve 
she  be,  and  'andsome  wi'  it  —  't  ain't  often  as  you  see  a 
maid  the  likes  o'  'er,  so  proud  and  'aughty  like." 

"Well.?" 

"  Well,  just  as  I  'appened  to  look  in  at  the  winder,  she 


Gabbing  Dick,  the  Pedler      371 

'appened  to  be  standin'  wi'  an  open  book  in  'er  'and  —  a 
old,  leather  book  wi'  a  broken  cover." 

"Yes?"  said  I. 

"  And  she  was  a-laughin'  —  and  a  pretty,  soft,  Eve's 
laugh  it  were,  too." 

"Yes?"  said  I. 

"  And  —  ^e  were  a-lookin'  at  the  book  —  over  'er 
shoulder !  "  The  irons  slipped  from  my  grasp,  and  fell 
with  a  harsh  clang. 

"  Ketches  ye,  does  it?  "  said  the  Pedler.  I  did  not  speak, 
but,  meeting  my  eye,  he  scrambled  hastily  to  his  feet,  and, 
catching  up  his  pack,  retreated  some  little  way  down  the 
road. 

"  Ketches  ye,  does  it,  my  cove  ?  "  he  repeated ;  "  turn  me 
away  from  your  door  on  a  cold,  dark  night,  would  ye  (not 
as  I  bears  you  any  ill-will  for  it,  bein'  of  a  forgivin' 
natur')  ?  But  I  says  to  you,  I  says  —  look  out!  —  a  fine 
'andsome  lass  she  be,  wi'  'er  soft  eyes  and  red  lips,  and  long, 
white  arms  —  the  eyes  and  lips  and  arms  of  a  Eve ;  and 
Eve  tricked  Adam,  did  n't  she  ?  —  and  you  ain't  a  better 
man  nor  Adam,  are  ye?  —  very  well  then !  "  saying  which, 
he  spat  once  more  into  the  ditch,  and,  shouldering  his 
pack,  strode  away. 

And,  after  some  while,  I  took  up  my  iron  bars,  and 
trudged  on  towards  the  cottage.  As  I  went,  I  repeated  to 
myself,  over  and  over  again,  the  word  "  Liar."  Yet  my 
step  was  very  slow  and  heavy,  and  my  feet  dragged  in  the 
dust;  and,  somewhere  in  my  head,  a  small  hammer  had 
begun  to  beat,  soft  and  slow  and  regular,  but  beating, 
beating  upon  my  brain. 

'Now  the  upper  cover  of  my  Virgil  book  was  broken! 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE    VIKGIL,    BOOK 

A  MAN  was  leaning  in  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  looking  down 
into  the  Hollow. 

I  could  not  see  him  very  distinctly  because,  though  even- 
ing had  scarcely  fallen,  the  shadows,  where  he  stood,  were 
very  dense,  but  he  was  gazing  down  into  the  Hollow  in 
the  attitude  of  one  who  waits.     For  what.?  —  for  whom.? 

A  sudden  fit  of  shivering  shook  me  from  head  to  foot, 
and,  while  I  yet  shivered,  I  grew  burning  hot;  the  blood 
throbbed  at  my  temples,  the  small  hammer  was  drumming 
much  faster  now,  and  the  cool  night  air  seemed  to  be 
stifling  me. 

Very  cautiously  I  began  creeping  nearer  the  passive 
figure,  while  the  hammer  beat  so  loud  that  it  seemed  he 
must  hear  it  where  he  stood:  a  shortish,  broad-shouldered 
figure,  clad  in  a  blue  coat.  He  held  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  he  leaned  carelessly  against  the  tree,  and  his  easy 
assurance  of  air  maddened  me  the  more. 

As  he  stood  thus,  looking  always  down  into  the  Hollow, 
his  neck  gleamed  at  me  above  the  collar  of  his  coat,  where- 
fore I  stooped  and,  laying  my  irons  in  the  grass,  crept 
on,  once  more,  and,  as  I  went,  I  kept  my  eyes  upon  his 
neck. 

A  stick  snapped  sharp  and  loud  beneath  my  tread,  the 
lounging  back  stiffened  and  grew  rigid,  the  face  showed 
for  an  instant  over  the  shoulder,  and,  with  a  spring,  he 
had  vanished  into  the  bushes. 

It  was  a  vain  hope  to  find  a  man  in  such  a  dense  tangle 
of  boughs  and  underbrush,  yet  I  ran  forward,  nevertheless ; 


The  Virgil  Book  373 

but,  though  I  sought  eagerly  upon  all  sides,  he  had  made 
good  his  escape.  So,  after  a  while,  I  retraced  my  steps  to 
where  I  had  left  my  irons  and  brackets,  and  taking  them 
up,  turned  aside  to  that  precipitous  path  which,  as  I  have 
already  said,  leads  down  into  the  Hollow. 

Now,  as  I  went,  listening  to  the  throb  of  the  hammer 
in  my  head,  whom  should  I  meet  but  Charmian,  coming 
gayly  through  the  green,  and  singing  as  she  came.  At 
sight  of  me  she  stopped,  and  the  song  died  upon  her 
lip. 

"  Why  —  why,  Peter  —  you  look  pale  —  dreadfully 
pale  —  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  very  well !  "  said  I. 

"  You  have  not  been  —  fighting  again  ?  " 

"Why  should  I  have  been  fighting,  Charmian?" 

*'  Your  eyes  are  wild  —  and  fierce,  Peter." 

"  Were  you  coming  to  —  to  —  meet  me,  Charmian  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Peter."  Now,  watching  beneath  my  brows,  it 
almost  seemed  that  her  color  had  changed,  and  that  her 
eyes,  of  set  purpose,  avoided  mine.  Could  it  be  that  she 
was  equivocating.'' 

"  But  I  —  am  much  before  my  usual  time,  to-night, 
Charmian." 

"  Then  there  will  be  no  waiting  for  supper,  and  I  am 
ravenous,  Peter !  " 

And  as  she  led  the  way  along  the  path  she  began  to  sing 
again. 

Being  come  to  the  cottage,  I  set  down  my  bars  and 
brackets,  with  a  clang. 

"  These,"  said  I,  in  answer  to  her  look,  "  are  the  bars 
I  promised  to  make  for  the  door." 

"  Do  you  always  keep  your  promises,  Peter  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  coming  to  look  at  the  gi'eat  bars,  with 
a  fork  in  her  hand,  for  she  was  in  the  middle  of  dishing 
up,  "  then,  if  you  promise  me  always  to  come  home  by  the 
road,  and  never  through  the  coppice  —  you  will  do  so, 
won't  you?  " 


374  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  I  inquired,  turning  sharply  to  look 
at  her. 

"  Because  the  coppice  is  so  dark  and  lonely,  and  if  —  I 
say,  if  I  should  take  it  into  my  head  to  come  and  meet  you 
sometimes,  there  would  be  no  chance  of  my  missing  you." 
And  so  she  looked  at  me  and  smiled,  and,  going  back  to 
her  cooking,  fell  once  more  a-singing,  the  while  I  sat  and 
watched  her  beneath  ray  brows. 

Surely,  surely  no  woman  whose  heart  was  full  of  deceit 
could  sing  so  blithely  and  happily,  or  look  at  one  with  such 
sweet  candor  in  her  eyes? 

And  yet  the  supper  was  a  very  ghost  of  a  meal,  for  when 
I  remembered  the  man  who  had  watched  and  waited,  the 
very  food  grew  nauseous  and  seemed  to  choke  me.  "  She  's 
a  Eve  —  a  Eve !  "  rang  a  voice  in  my  ear ;  "  Eve  tricked 
Adam,  did  n't  she,  and  you  ain't  a  better  man  nor  Adam ; 
she  's  a  Eve  —  a  Eve !  " 

"  Peter,  you  eat  nothing." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  said  I,  staring  unseeingly  down  at  my 
plate,  and  striving  to  close  my  ears  against  the  fiendish 
voice. 

"  And  you  are  very  pale !  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  Peter  —  look  at  me." 

I  looked  up  obediently, 

"  Yes,  you  are  frightfully  pale  —  are  you  ill  again  —  is 
il  your  head;  Peter  —  what  is  it.''"  and,  with  a  sudden, 
half-shy  gesture,  she  stretched  her  hand  to  me  across  the 
table.  And  as  I  looked  from  the  mute  pity  of  her  eyes  to 
the  mute  pity  of  that  would-be  comforting  hand,  I  had  a 
great  impulse  to  clasp  it  close  in  mine,  to  speak,  and  tell 
her  all  my  base  and  unworthy  suspicions,  and,  once  more, 
to  entreat  her  pardon  and  forgiveness.  The  words  were 
upon  my  lips,  but  I  checked  them,  madman  that  I  was,  and 
shook  my  head. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  I  answered,  "  unless  it  be  that  I  have 
not  yet  recovered  from  Black  George's  fist ;  it  is  nothing !  " 
And  so  the  meal  drew  to  an  end,  and  though,  feeling  my 


The  Virgil  Book  ^j ^ 

thoughts  base,  I  sat  with  my  head  on  my  hand  and  my  eyes 
upon  the  cloth,  yet  I  knew  she  watched  me,  and  more  than 
once  I  heard  her  sigh.  A  man  who  acts  on  impulse  may 
sometimes  be  laughed  at  for  his  mistakes,  but  he  will  fre- 
quently attain  to  higher  things,  and  be  much  better  loved 
by  his  fellows  than  the  colder,  more  calculating  logician  who 
rarely  makes  a  blunder;  and  Simon  Peter  was  a  man  of 
impulse. 

Supper  being  over  and  done,  Charmian  must  needs  take 
my  coat,  despite  my  protests,  and  fall  to  work  upon  its 
threadbare  shabbiness,  mending  a  great  rent  in  the' sleeve. 
And,  watching  her  through  the  smoke  of  my  pipe,  noting 
the  high  mould  of  her  features,  the  proud  poise  of  her  head, 
the  slender  elegance  of  her  hands,  I  was  struck  sharply  by 
her  contrast  to  the  rough,  bare  walls  that  were  my  home, 
and  the  toil-worn,  unlovely  garment  beneath  her  fingers. 
As  I  looked,  she  seemed  to  be  suddenly  removed  from  me 
—  far  above  and  beyond  my  reach. 

"  That  is  the  fourth  time,  Peter." 

"What,  Charmian?" 

"  That  is  the  fourth  time  you  have  sighed  since  you 
lighted  your  pipe,  and  it  is  out,  and  you  never  noticed 
it!" 

"  Yes"  said  I,  and  laid  the  pipe  upon  the  table  and 
sighed  again,  before  I  could  stop  myself.  Charmian  raised 
her  head,  and  looked  at  me  with  a  laugh  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  most  philosophical,  dreamy  blacksmith !  where  be 
your  thoughts.?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  old  and  worn  and  disreputable  my 
coat  looked." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  Charmian,  holding  it  up  and  re- 
garding it  with  a  little  frown,  "  forsooth  it  is  ancient, 
and  hath  seen  better  days." 

"  Like  its  wearer !  "  said  I,  and  sighed  again. 

"  Hark  to  this  ancient  man !  "  she  laughed,  "  this  hoary- 
headed  blacksmith  of  ours,  who  sighs,  and  forever  sighs ; 
if  it  could  possibly  be  that  he  had  met  any  one  sufficiently 
worthy  —  I  should  think  that  he  had  fallen  —  philosophi- 


37 6  The  Broad  Highway 

cally  —  in  love ;  how  think  you,  Sir  Knight  of  the  Rueful 
Countenance?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  I,  "  that,  among  other  things,  you 
once  called  me  '  Superior  Mr.  Smith.'  "  Charmian  laughed 
and  nodded  her  head  at  me. 

"  You  had  been  describing  to  me  some  quite  impossible, 
idealistic  creature,  alone  worthy  of  your  regard,  sir." 

"  Do  you  still  think  me  '  superior,'  Charmian  ?  " 

"  Do  you  still  dream  of  your  impalpable,  bloodlessly- 
perfect  ideals,  sir.''  " 

"  No,"  I  answered ;  "  no,  I  think  I  have  done  with 
dreaming." 

"  And  I  have  done  with  this,  thy  coat,  for  behold !  it 
is  finished,"  and  rising,  she  folded  it  over  the  back  of  my 
chair. 

Now,  as  she  stood  thus  behind  me,  her  hand  fell  and,  for 
a  moment,  rested  lightly  upon  my  shoulder. 

"  Peter." 

"  Yes,  Charmian." 

"  I  wish,  yes,  I  do  wish  that  you  were  either  much 
younger  or  very  much  older." 

"Why.?" 

"  Because  you  would  n't  be  quite  so  —  so  cryptic  —  such 
a  very  abstruse  problem.  Sometimes  I  think  I  understand 
you  better  than  you  do  yourself,  and  sometimes  I  am 
utterly  lost ;  now,  if  you  were  younger  I  could  read  you 
easily  for  myself,  and,  if  you  were  older,  you  would  read 
yourself  for  me." 

"  I  was  never  very  young !  "  said  I. 

"  No,  you  were  always  too  repressed,  Peter." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  I  was." 

"  Repression  is  good  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  beyond 
that  it  is  dangerous,"  said  she,  with  a  portentous  shake 
of  the  head.  "  Heigho !  was  it  a  week  or  a  year  ago  that 
you  avowed  yourself  happy,  and  could  n't  tell  why  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  greater  fool !  "  said  I. 

"  For  not  knowing  why,  Peter  ?  " 

"  For  thinking  myself  happy !  " 


The  Virgil  Book  377 

"  Peter,  what  is  happiness  ?  " 

"  An  idea,"  said  I,  "  possessed  generally  of  fools ! " 

"  And  what  is  misery?  " 

*'  Misery  is  also  an  idea." 

"  Possessed  only  by  the  wise,  Peter ;  surely  he  is  wiser 
who  chooses  happiness  ?  " 

*'  Neither  happiness  nor  misery  comes  from  choice." 

"  But  —  if  one  seeks  happiness,  Peter.''  " 

"  One  will  assuredly  find  misery !  "  said  I,  and,  sighing, 
rose,  and  taking  my  hammer  from  its  place  above  my  book- 
shelf, set  to  work  upon  my  brackets,  driving  them  deep 
into  the  heavy  framework  of  the  door.  All  at  once  I 
stopped,  with  my  hammer  poised,  and,  for  no  reason  in 
the  world,  looked  back  at  Charmian,  over  my  shoulder; 
looked  to  find  her  watching  me  with  eyes  that  were  (if  it 
could  well  be)  puzzled,  wistful,  shy,  and  glad  at  one  and 
the  same  time;  eyes  that  veiled  themselves  swiftly  before 
my  look,  yet  that  shot  one  last  glance,  between  their  lashes, 
in  which  were  only  joy  and  laughter. 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  I,  answering  the  look.  But  she  only 
stooped  her  head  and  went  on  sewing;  yet  the  color  was 
bright  in  her  cheeks. 

And,  having  driven  in  the  four  brackets,  or  staples,  and 
closed  the  door,  I  took  up  the  bars  and  showed  her  how 
they  were  to  lie  crosswise  across  the  door,  resting  in  the 
brackets. 

"  We  shall  be  safe  now,  Peter,"  said  she ;  "  those  bars 
would  resist  —  an  elephant." 

"  I  think  they  would,"  I  nodded ;  "  but  there  is  yet  some- 
thing more."  Going  to  my  shelf  of  books  I  took  thence 
the  silver-mounted  pistol  she  had  brought  with  her,  and 
balanced  it  in  my  hand.  "  To-morrow  I  will  take  this  to 
Cranbrook,  and  buy  bullets  to  fit  it." 

"  Why,  there  are  bullets  there  —  in  one  of  the  old  shoes, 
Peter." 

"  They  are  too  large ;  this  is  an  unusually  small  calibre, 
and  yet  it  would  be  deadly  enough  at  close  range.  I  will 
load  it  for  you,  Charmian,  and  give  it  into  your  keeping, 


37 8  The  Broad  Highway 

in  case  you  should  ever  —  grow  afraid  again,  when  I  am 
not  by ;  this  is  a  lonely  place  —  for  a  woman  —  at  all 
times." 

"  Yes,  Peter."  She  was  busily  employed  upon  a  piece 
of  embroidery,  and  began  to  sing  softly  to  herself  again 
as  she  worked,  —  that  old  song  which  worthy  Mr.  Pepys 
mentions  having  heard  from  the  lips  of  mischievous-eyed 
Nell  Gwynn: 

"In  Scarlet  town,  where  I  was  bom. 

There  was  a  fair  maid  dwellin'. 

Made  every  youth  cry  Well-a-way  ! 

Her  name  was  Barbara  Allen.'  " 

"  Are  you  so  happy,  Charmian  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  indifferent  well,  I  thank  you. 

" '  All  in  the  merry  month  of  May 
When  green  buds  they  were  swellin". 
Young  Jemmy  Grove  on  his  death-bed  lay. 
For  love  of  Barbara  Allen.' 

"  Are  you  so  —  miserable,  Peter?  " 

"Why  do  you  ask.?" 

"  Because  you  sigh,  and  sigh,  like  —  poor  Jemmy  Grove 
in  the  song." 

"  He  was  a  fool !  "  said  I. 

"  For  sighing,  Peter.?  " 

"  For  dying." 

"  I  suppose  no  philosopher  could  ever  be  so  —  foolish, 
Peter.?  " 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  certainly  not!  " 

"  It  is  well  to  be  a  philosopher,  is  n't  it,  Peter?  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  I,  and  once  more  set  about  lighting  my 
pipe.  Anon  I  rose  and,  crossing  to  the  open  door,  looked 
out  upon  the  summer  night,  and  sighed,  and  coming  back, 
sat  watching  Charmian's  busy  fingers. 

"  Charmian,"  said  I  at  last. 

"Yes,  Peter?" 

"  Do  you  —  ever  see  any  —  any  —  men  lurking  about 
the  Hollow  —  when  I  am  away?"  Her  needle  stopped 
suddenly,  and  she  did  not  look  up  as  she  answered : 


The  Virgil  Book  379 

"  No,  Peter !  » 

"  Never  ?  —  are  you  —  sure,  Charmian  ?  "  The  needle 
began  to  fly  to  and  fro  again,  but  still  she  did  not  look  up. 

"  No  —  of  course  not  —  how  should  I  see  any  one?  I 
scarcely  go  beyond  the  Hollow,  and  —  I  'm  busy  all 
day." 

"  A  Eve  —  a  Eve !  "  said  a  voice  in  my  ear.  "  Eve 
tricked  Adam,  didn't  she.?  —  a  Eve!" 

After  this  I  sat  for  a  long  time  without  moving,  my 
mind  harassed  with  doubts  and  a  hideous,  morbid  dread. 
Why  had  she  avoided  my  eye?  Her  own  were  pure  and 
truthful,  and  could  not  lie!  Why,  why  had  they  avoided 
mine?     If  only  she  had  looked  at  me! 

Presently  I  rose  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  You  are  very  restless,  Peter !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  yes,  I  fear  I  am  —  you  must  pardon 
me  —  " 

"Why  not  read?" 

"  Indeed  I  had  not  thought  of  my  books." 

"  Then  read  me  something  aloud,  Peter." 

"  I  will  read  you  the  sorrow  of  Achilles  for  the  loss  of 
Briseis,"  said  I,  and,  going  into  the  corner,  I  raised  my 
hand  to  my  shelf  of  books  —  and  stood  there  with  hand 
upraised  yet  touching  no  book,  for  a  sudden  spasm 
seemed  to  have  me  in  its  clutches,  and  once  again  the 
trembling  seized  me,  and  the  hammer  had  recommenced 
its  beat,  beating  upon  my  brain. 

And,  in  a  while,  I  turned  from  my  books,  and,  crossing 
to  the  door,  leaned  there  with  my  back  to  her  lest  she 
should  see  my  face  just  then. 

"I  —  I  don't  think  I  —  will  read — to-night!"  said  I 
at  last. 

"  Very  well,  Peter,  let  us  talk." 

"  Or  talk,"  said  I ;  "  I  —  I  think  I  '11  go  to  bed.  Pray," 
I  went  on  hurriedly,  for  I  was  conscious  that  she  had  raised 
her  head  and  was  looking  at  me  in  some  surprise,  "  pray 
excuse  me  —  I  'm  very  tired."    So,  while  she  yet  stared  at 


380  The  Broad  Highway 

me,  I  turned  away,  and,  mumbling  a  good  night,  went  into 
my  chamber,  and  closing  the  door,  leaned  against  it,  for 
my  mind  was  sick  with  dread,  and  sorrow,  and  a  great 
anguish ;  for  now  I  knew  that  Charmian  had  lied  to  me  — 
my  Virgil  book  had  been  moved  from  its  usual  place. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

IN    WHICH    THE    R£AD££    SHALL    FIND    LITTLE    TO    DO 
WITH    THE    STOEY,    AND    MAY,    THEREFORE,    SKIP 

Is  there  anywhere  in  the  world  so  damnable  a  place  of  tor- 
ment as  a  bed?  To  lie  awake  through  the  slow,  dragging 
hours,  surrounded  by  a  sombre  quietude  from  whose  stifling 
blackness  thoughts,  like  demons,  leap  to  catch  us  by  the 
throat;  or,  like  waves,  come  rolling  in  upon  us,  cease- 
lessly, remorselessly  —  burying  us  beneath  their  resistless 
flow,  catching  us  up,  whirling  us  dizzily  aloft,  dashing  us 
down  into  depths  infinite ;  now  retreating,  now  advancing, 
from  whose  oncoming  terror  there  is  no  escape,  until  we 
are  once  more  buried  beneath  their  stifling  rush. 

To  lie  awake,  staring  wide-eyed  into  a  crowding  dark- 
ness wherein  move  terrors  unimagined ;  to  bury  our  throb- 
bing temples  in  pillows  of  fire ;  to  roll  and  toss  until  the 
soul  within  us  cries  out  in  agony,  and  we  reach  out  fran- 
tic hands  into  a  void  that  mocks  us  by  the  contrast  of  its 
deep  and  awful  quiet.  At  such  times  fair  Reason  runs 
affrighted  to  hide  herself,  and  foaming  Madness  fills  her 
throne;  at  such  times  our  everyday  sorrows,  howsoever 
small  and  petty  they  be,  grow  and  magnify  themselves 
until  they  overflow  the  night,  filling  the  universe  above  and 
around  us;  and  of  all  the  woes  the  human  mind  can  bear 
—  surely  Suspicion  gnaws  deeper  than  them  all ! 

So  I  lay  beneath  the  incubus,  my  temples  clasped  tight 
between  my  burning  palms  to  stay  the  maddening  ring  of 
the  hammer  in  my  brain.  And  suspicion  grew  into  cer- 
tainty, and  with  certainty  came  madness ;   imagination  ran 


382  The  Broad  Highway 

riot :  she  was  a  Messalina  —  a  Julia  —  a  Joan  of  Naples 
—  a  veritable  Succuba  —  a  thing  polluted,  degraded,  and 
abominable ;  and,  because  of  her  beauty,  I  cursed  all  beau- 
tiful things,  and  because  of  her  womanhood,  I  cursed  all 
women.  And  ever  the  hammer  beat  upon  my  brain,  and 
foul  shapes  danced  before  my  eyes  —  shapes  so  insanely 
hideous  and  revolting  that,  of  a  sudden,  I  rose  from  my 
bed,  groaning,  and  coming  to  the  casement  —  leaned  out. 

Oh !  the  cool,  sweet  purity  of  the  night !  I  heard  the 
soft  stir  and  rustle  of  leaves  all  about  me,  and  down  from 
heaven  came  a  breath  of  wind,  and  in  the  wind  a  great  rain- 
drop that  touched  my  burning  brow  like  the  finger  of  God. 
And,  leaning  there,  with  parted  lips  and  closed  eyes,  grad- 
ually my  madness  left  me,  and  the  throbbing  in  my  brain 
grew  less. 

How  many  poor  mortals,  since  the  world  began,  sleepless 
and  anguish-torn  —  even  as  I  —  have  looked  up  into  that 
self-same  sky  and  sorrowed  for  the  dawn ! 

'*  For  her  love,  in  sleep  I  slake. 
For  her  love,  all  night  I  wake. 
For  her  love,  I  mourning  make 
More  than  any  man! " 

Poor  fool !  to  think  that  thou  couldst  mourn  more  than 
thy  kind! 

Thou  'rt  but  a  little  handful  of  gray  dust,  ages  since, 
thy  name  and  estate  long  out  of  mind ;  where'er  thou  art, 
thou  shouldst  have  got  you  wisdom  by  now,  perchance. 

Poor  fool !  that  thou  must  love  a  woman  —  and  wor- 
ship with  thy  love,  building  for  her  an  altar  in  thine  heart. 
If  altar  crumble  and  heart  burst,  is  she  to  blame  who  is  but 
woman,  or  thou,  who  wouldst  have  made  her  all  divine.'' 

Well,  thou  'rt  dead  —  a  small  handful  of  gray  dust, 
long  since  —  perchance  thou  hast  got  thee  wisdom  ere  now 
—  poor  fool  —  O  Fool  Divine ! 

As  thou  art  now,  thy  sleepless  nights  forgot  —  the  cark- 
ing  sorrows  of  thy  life  all  overpast,  and  done  —  so  must  I 
some  time  be,  and,  ages  hence,  shall  smile  at  this,  and 
reckon  it  no  more  than  a  broken  toy  —  heigho ! 


Little  to  Do'with  ^e  Story      383 

And  so  I  presently  turned  back  to  my  tumbled  bed,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  that  torment  and  terror  still  waited  me 
there ;  moreover,  I  was  filled  with  a  great  desire  for  action. 
This  narrow  chamber  stifled  me,  while  outside  was  the  stir 
of  leaves,  the  gentle  breathing  of  the  wind,  the  cool  murmur 
of  the  brook,  with  night  brooding  over  all,  deep  and  soft 
and  still. 

Being  now  dressed,  I  stood  awhile,  deliberating  how  I 
might  escape  without  disturbing  her  who  slumbered  in  the 
outer  room.  So  I  came  to  the  window,  and  thrusting  my 
head  and  shoulders  sidewise  through  the  narrow  lattice, 
slowly,  and  with  much  ado,  wriggled  myself  out.  Rising 
from  my  hands  and  knees,  I  stood  up  and  threw  wide  my 
arms  to  the  perfumed  night,  inhaling  its  sweetness  in  great, 
deep  breaths,  and  so  turned  my  steps  towards  the  brook, 
drawn  thither  by  its  rippling  melody;  for  a  brook  is  a 
companionable  thing,  at  all  times,  to  a  lonely  man,  and  very 
full  of  wise  counsel  and  friendly  admonitions,  if  he  but 
have  ears  to  hear  withal. 

Thus,  as  I  walked  beside  the  brook,  it  spoke  to  me  of 
many  things,  grave  and  gay,  delivering  itself  of  observa- 
tions upon  the  folly  of  Humans,  comparing  us  very  un- 
favorably with  the  godlike  dignity  of  trees,  the  immuta- 
bility of  mountains,  and  the  profound  philosophy  of 
brooks.  Indeed  it  waxed  most  eloquent  upon  this  theme, 
caustic,  if  you  will,  but  with  a  ripple,  between  whiles,  like 
the  deep-throated  chuckle  of  the  wise  old  philosopher  it 
was. 

"  Go  to !  "  chuckled  the  brook.  "  Oh,  heavy-footed, 
heavy-sighing  Human  —  go  to !  It  is  written  that  Man 
was  given  dominion  over  birds  and  beasts  and  fishes,  and 
all  things  made,  yet  how  doth  Man,  in  all  his  pride,  com- 
pare with  even  a  little  mountain.''  And,  as  to  birds  and 
beasts  and  fishes,  they  provide  for  themselves,  day  in  and 
day  out,  while  Man  doth  starve  and  famish !  To  what  end 
is  Man  born  but  to  work,  beget  his  kind,  and  die?  O  Man ! 
lift  up  thy  dull-sighted  eyes  —  behold  the  wonder  of  the 
world,  and  the  infinite  universe  about  thee ;  behold  thyself. 


384  The  Broad  Highway 

and  see  thy  many  failings  and  imperfections,  and  thy  stu- 
pendous littleness  —  go  to !  Man  was  made  for  the  world, 
and  not  the  world  for  man !  Man  is  a  leaf  in  the  forest  — 
a  grain  of  dust  borne  upon  the  wind,  and,  when  the  wind 
faileth,  dust  to  dust  retumeth;  out  upon  thee,  with  thy 
puny  griefs  and  sorrows. 

"  O  Man !  —  who  hath  dominion  over  all  things  save 
thine  own  heart,  and  who,  in  thy  blind  egotism,  setteth 
thyself  much  above  me,  who  am  but  a  runlet  of  water.  O 
Man!  I  tell  thee,  when  thou  art  dusty  bones,  I  shall  still 
be  here,  singing  to  myself  in  the  sun  or  talking  to  some 
other  poor  human  fool,  in  the  dark.  Go  to !  "  chuckled  the 
brook,  "  the  Wheel  of  Life  tumeth  ever  faster  and  faster ; 
the  woes  of  to-day  shall  be  the  woes  of  last  year,  or  ever 
thou  canst  coimt  them  all  —  out  upon  thee  —  go  to !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

OP    STOEM,    AND    TEMPEST,    AND    HOW    I    MET    ONE 
PRAYING    IN    THE    DAWN 

On  I  went,  chin  on  breast,  heedless  of  all  direction  —  now 
beneath  the  shade  of  trees,  now  crossing  grassy  glades  or 
rolling  meadow,  or  threading  my  way  through  long  alleys 
of  hop-vines ;  on  and  on,  skirting  hedges,  by  haycocks 
looming  ghostly  in  the  dark,  by  rustling  cornfields,  through 
wood  and  coppice,  where  branches  touched  me,  as  I  passed, 
like  ghostly  fingers  in  the  dark ;  on  I  went,  lost  to  all  things 
but  my  own  thoughts.  And  my  thoughts  were  not  of  Life 
nor  Death  nor  the  world  nor  the  spaces  beyond  the  world 
—  but  of  my  Virgil  book  with  the  broken  cover,  and  of  him 
who  had  looked  at  it  —  over  her  shoulder.  And,  raising 
my  hands,  I  clasped  them  about  my  temples,  and,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  stood  there  a  great  while.  Yet,  when  the 
trembling  fit  had  left  me,  I  went  on  again,  and  with  every 
footstep  there  rose  a  voice  within  me,  crying :  "  Why  ? 
Why?    Why?" 

Why  should  I,  Peter  Vibart,  hale  and  well  in  body, 
healthy  in  mind  —  why  should  I  fall  thus  into  ague-spasms 
because  of  a  woman  —  of  whom  I  knew  nothing,  who  had 
come  I  knew  not  whence,  accompanied  by  one  whose  pres- 
ence, under  such  conditions,  meant  infamy  to  any  woman ; 
why  should  I  burn  thus  in  a  fever  if  she  chose  to  meet  an- 
other while  I  was  abroad?  Was  she  not  free  to  follow  her 
own  devices ;  had  I  any  claim  upon  her ;  by  what  right  did 
I  seek  to  compass  her  goings  and  comings,  or  interest  my- 
self in  her  doing*?    Why?    Why?    Why? 


386  The  Broad  Highway 

As  I  went,  the  woods  gradually  fell  away,  and  I  came 
out  upon  an  open  place.  The  ground  rose  sharply  before 
me,  but  I  climbed  on  and  up  and  so,  in  time,  stood  upon  a 
hill. 

Now,  standing  upon  this  elevation,  with  the  woods  loom- 
ing dimly  below  me,  as  if  they  were  a  dark  tide  hemming 
me  in  on  all  sides,  I  became  conscious  of  a  sudden  great 
quietude  in  the  air  —  a  stillness  that  was  like  the  hush  of 
expectancy;  not  a  sound  came  to  me,  not  a  whisper  from 
the  myriad  leaves  below. 

But,  as  I  stood  there  listening,  very  faint  and  far  away, 
I  heard  a  murmur  that  rose  and  died  and  rose  again,  that 
swelled  and  swelled  into  the  roll  of  distant  thunder.  Down 
in  the  woods  was  a  faint  rustling,  as  if  some  giant  were 
stirring  among  the  leaves,  and  out  of  their  depths  breathed 
a  puif  of  wind  that  fanned  my  cheek,  and  so  was  gone. 
But,  in  a  while,  it  was  back  again,  stronger,  more  insist- 
■  ent  than  before,  till,  sudden  as  it  came,  it  died  away  again, 
and  all  was  hushed  and  still,  save  only  for  the  tremor  down 
there  among  the  leaves ;  but  lightning  flickered  upon  the 
horizon,  the  thunder  rolled  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  giant 
grew  ever  more  restless. 

Round  about  me,  in  the  dark,  were  imps  that  laughed 
and  whispered  together,  and  mocked  me  amid  the  leaves : 

"  Who  is  the  madman  that  stands  upon  a  lonely  hill  at 
midnight,  bareheaded,  half  clad,  and  hungers  for  the 
storm?  Peter  Vibart!  Peter  Vibart!  Who  is  he  that, 
having  eyes,  sees  not,  and  having  ears,  hears  not.''  Peter 
Vibart!  Peter  Vibart!  Blow,  Wind,  and  buffet  him! 
Flame,  O  Lightning,  that  he  may  see!  Roar,  0  Thunder, 
that  he  may  hear  and  know !  " 

Upon  the  stillness  came  a  rustling,  loud  and  ever  louder, 
drowning  all  else,  for  the  giant  was  awake  at  last,  and 
stretching  himself;  and  now,  up  he  sprang  with  a  sudden 
bellow,  and,  gathering  himself  together,  swept  up  towards 
me  through  the  swaying  treetops,  pelting  me  with  broken 
twigs  and  flying  leaves,  and  filling  the  air  with  the  tumult 
of  his  coming. 


of  Storm  and  Tempest        387 

Oh,  the  wind !  —  the  bellowing,  giant  wind !  On  he  came, 
exulting,  whistling  through  my  hair,  stopping  my  breath, 
roaring  in  my  ears  his  savage,  wild  halloo!  And,  as  if  in 
answer,  forth  from  the  inky  heaven  burst  a  jagged,  blind- 
ing flame,  that  zigzagged  down  among  the  tossing  trees, 
and  vanished  with  a  roaring  thunder-clap  that  seemed  to 
stun  all  things  to  silence.  But  not  for  long,  for  in  the  dark- 
ness came  the  wind  again  —  fiercer,  wilder  than  before, 
shrieking  a  defiance.  The  thunder  crashed  above  me,  and 
the  lightning  quivered  in  the  air  about  me,  till  my  eyes 
ached  with  the  swift  transitions  from  pitch  darkness  to 
dazzling  light  —  light  in  which  distant  objects  started  out 
clear  and  well  defined,  only  to  be  lost  again  in  a  swirl  of 
blackness.  And  now  came  rain  —  a  sudden,  hissing  down- 
pour, long  threads  of  scintillating  fire  where  the  lightning 
caught  it  —  rain  that  wetted  me  through  and  through. 

The  storm  was  at  its  height,  and,  as  I  listened,  rain  and 
wind  and  thunder  became  merged  and  blended  into  awful 
music  —  a  symphony  of  Life  and  Death  played  by  the 
hands  of  God ;  and  I  was  an  atom  —  a  grain  of  dust  — 
an  insect,  to  be  crushed  by  God's  little  finger.  And  yet 
needs  must  this  insect  still  think  upon  its  little  self  — 
for  half  drowned,  deafened,  blind,  and  half  stunned  though 
I  was,  still  the  voice  within  me  cried :  "  Why  ?  Why  ? 
Why.?" 

Why  was  I  here  instead  of  lying  soft  and  sheltered,  and 
sleeping  the  blessed  sleep  of  tired  humanity.''  Why  was  I 
here,  with  death  about  me  —  and  why  must  I  think,  and 
think,  and  think  of  Her.? 

The  whole  breadth  of  heaven  seemed  torn  asunder  — 
blue  flame  crackled  in  the  air;  it  ran  hissing  along  the 
ground ;  then  —  blackness,  and  a  thunderclap  that  shook 
the  very  hill  beneath  me,  and  I  was  down  upon  my  knees, 
with  the  swish  of  the  rain  about  me. 

Little  by  little  upon  this  silence  stole  the  rustle  of  leaves, 
and  in  the  leaves  were  the  imps  who  mocked  me : 

"  Who  is  he  that  doth  love  —  in  despite  of  himself,  and 
shall  do,  all  his  days  —  be  she  good  or  evil,  whatever  she 


t 

388  The  Broad  Highway 

was,  whatever  she  is?  Who  is  the  very  Fool  of  Love? 
Peter  Vibart !     Peter  Vibart !  " 

And  so  I  bowed  my  face  upon  my  hands,  and  remained 
thus  a  great  while,  heeding  no  more  the  tempest  about  me. 
For  now  indeed  was  my  question  answered,  and  my  fear 
realized. 

"  I  love  her !  —  whatever  she  was  —  whatever  she  is  — 
good  or  evil  —  I  love  her.  O  Fool !  —  O  most  miserable 
Fool!" 

And  presently  I  rose,  and  went  on  down  the  hill.  Fast 
I  strode,  stumbling  and  slipping,  plunging  on  heedlessly 
through  bush  and  brake  until  at  last,  looking  about  me, 
I  found  myself  on  the  outskirts  of  a  little  spinney  or  copse ; 
and  then  I  became  conscious  that  the  storm  had  passed, 
for  the  thunder  had  died  down  to  a  murmur,  and  the  rain 
had  ceased ;  only  all  about  me  were  little  soft  sounds,  as  if 
the  trees  were  weeping  silently  together. 

Pushing  on,  I  came  into  a  sort  of  narrow  lane,  grassy 
underfoot  and  shut  in  on  either  hand  by  very  tall  hedges 
that  loomed  solid  and  black  in  the  night ;  and,  being  spent 
and  weary,  I  sat  down  beneath  one  of  these  and  propped 
my  chin  in  my  hands. 

How  long  I  remained  thus  I  cannot  say,  but  I  was  at 
length  aroused  by  a  voice  —  a  strangely  sweet  and  gentle 
voice  at  no  great  distance,  and  the  words  it  uttered  were 
these : 

"  Oh !  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  for  He  is  good,  for 
His  mercy  endureth  forever!  O  Lord!  I  beseech  Thee 
look  down  in  Thine  infinite  pity  upon  this,  Thy  world ;  for 
lo !  day  is  at  hand,  and  Thy  children  must  soon  awake  to 
life  and  toil  and  temptation.  Oh !  Thou  who  art  the  Lover 
of  Men,  let  Thy  Holy  Spirit  wait  to  meet  with  each  one  of 
us  upon  the  threshold  of  the  dawn,  and  lead  us  through 
this  coming  day.  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so 
dost  Thou  pity  all  the  woeful  and  heavy-hearted.  Look 
down  upon  all  those  who  must  so  soon  awake  to  their  griefs, 
speak  comfortably  to  them;  remember  those  in  pain  who 
must  so  soon  take  up  their  weary  burdens!     Look  down 


of  Storm  and  Tempest        389 

upon  the  hungry  and  the  rich,  the  evil  and  the  good,  that, 
in  this  new  day,  finding  each  something  of  Thy  mercy,  they 
may  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  for  He  is  good,  for  His 
mercy  endureth  forever." 

So  the  voice  ended,  and  there  were  silence  and  a  profound 
stfllness  upon  all  things ;  wherefore,  lifting  my  eyes  unto 
the  east,  I  saw  that  it  was  dawn. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE    EPILEPTIC 

Now,  when  the  prayer  was  ended,  I  turned  my  back  upon 
the  lightening  east  and  set  off  along  the  lane. 

But,  as  I  went,  I  heard  one  hailing  me,  and  glancing 
round,  saw  that  in  the  hedge  was  a  wicket-gate,  and  over 
this  gate  a  man  was  leaning.  A  little,  thin  man  with  the 
face  of  an  ascetic,  or  mediasval  saint,  a  face  of  a  high  and 
noble  beauty,  upon  whose  schalarly  brow  sat  a  calm 
serenity,  yet  beneath  which  glowed  the  full,  bright  eye  of 
the  man  of  action. 

"  Good  morning,  friend !  "  said  he ;  "  welcome  to  my 
solitude.  I  wish  you  joy  of  this  new  day  of  ours;  it  is 
cloudy  yet,  but  there  is  a  rift  down  on  the  horizon  —  it  will 
be  a  fair  day,  I  think." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,"  said  I,  "  to  me  there  are  all  the 
evidences  of  the  bad  weather  continuing.  I  think  it  will 
be  a  bad  day,  with  rain  and  probably  thunder  and  light- 
ning !     Good  morning,  sir !  " 

"  Stay !  "  cried  he  as  I  turned  away,  and,  with  the  word, 
set  his  hand  upon  the  gate,  and,  vaulting  nimbly  over,  came 
towards  me,  with  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  in  one  hand 
and  a  long-stemmed  wooden  pipe  in  the  other. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  my  cottage  is  close  by ;  you  look  worn 
and  jaded.    Will  you  not  step  in  and  rest  awhile?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  but  I  must  be  upon  my  way." 

"  And  whither  lies  your  way?  " 

"  To  Sissinghurst,  sir." 

"  You  have  a  long  walk  before  you,  and,  with  your  per- 
mission, I  will  accompany  you  a  little  way.'* 


The  Epileptic  391 

"  With  pleasure,  sir !  "  I  answered,  "  though  I  fear  you 
will  find  me  a  moody  companion,  and  a  somewhat  silent  one ; 
but  then,  I  shall  be  the  better  listener,  so  light  your  pipe, 
sir,  and,  while  you  smoke,  talk." 

"  My  pipe !  "  said  he,  glancing  down  at  it ;  "  ah !  yes  — 
I  was  about  to  compose  my  Sunday  evening's  sermon." 

"  You  are  a  clergyman,  sir.''  " 

"  No,  no  —  a  preacher  —  or  say  rather  —  a  teacher, 
and  a  very  humble  one,  who,  striving  himself  after  Truth, 
seeks  to  lend  such  aid  to  others  as  he  may." 

"  Truth !  "  said  I ;   "  what  is  Truth.?  " 

"  Truth,  sir,  is  that  which  can  never  pass  away ;  the 
Truth  of  Life  is  Good  Works,  which  abide  everlastingly." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  you  smoke  a  pipe,  I  perceive,  and 
should,  therefore,  be  n,  good  preacher;  for  smoking  begets 
thought  —  " 

"  And  yet,  sir,  is  not  to  act  greater  than  to  think  ?  " 

"  Why,  Thought  far  outstrips  puny  Action !  "  said  I  — 
"  it  reaches  deeper,  soars  higher ;  in  our  actions  we  are 
pigmies,  but  in  our  thoughts  we  may  be  gods,  and  embrace 
a  universe." 

"  But,"  sighed  the  Preacher,  "  while  we  think,  our 
fellows  perish  in  ignorance  and  want ! " 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  Thought,"  pursued  the  Preacher,  "  may  become  a  vice, 
as  it  did  with  the  old-time  monks  and  hermits,  who,  shut- 
ting themselves  away  from  their  kind,  wasted  their  lives 
upon  their  knees,  thinking  noble  thoughts  and  dreaming 
of  holy  things,  but  —  leaving  the  world  very  carefully  to 
the  devil.  And,  as  to  smoking,  I  am  seriously  consider- 
ing giving  it  up."  Here  he  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and 
thrust  it. behind  his  back. 

"Why.?" 

"  It  has  become,  unfortunately,  too  human !  It  is  a 
strange  thing,  sir,"  he  went  on,  smiling  and  shaking  his 
he;  d,  "  that  this,  my  one  indulgence,  should  breed  me 
more  discredit  than  all  the  cardinal  sins,  and  become  a 
stumbling-block  to  others.     Only  last  Sunday  I  happened 


392  The  Broad  Highway 

to  overhear  two  white-headed  old  fellows  talking.  '  A  fine 
sermon,  Giles  ?  *  said  the  one.  '  All !  good  enough,'  replied 
the  other,  '  but  it  might  ha'  been  better  —  ye  see  —  'e 
smokes ! '  So  I  am  seriously  thinking  of  giving  it  up,  for 
it  would  appear  that  if  a  preacher  prove  himself  as  human 
as  his  flock,  they  immediately  lose  faith  in  him,  and  become 
deaf  to  his  teaching." 

"  Very  true,  sir !  "  I  nodded.  "  It  has  always  been 
human  to  admire  and  respect  that  only  which  is  in  any 
way  different  to  ourselves ;  in  archaic  times  those  whose 
teachings  were  above  men's  comprehension,  or  who  were 
remarkable  for  any  singularity  of  action  were  immedi- 
ately deified.  Pythagoras  recognized  this  truth  when  he 
shrouded  himself  in  mystery  and  delivered  his  lectures  from 
behind  a  curtain,  though  to  be  sure  he  has  come  to  be  re- 
garded as  something  of  a  charlatan  in  consequence." 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  the  Preacher,  absent-mindedly  puffing 
at  his  pipe  again,  "  may  I  ask  what  you  are?  " 

"  A  blacksmith,  sir." 

"  And  where  did  you  read  of  Pythagoras  and  the  like.?  " 

"  At  Oxford,  sir." 

"  How  comes  it  then  that  I  find  you  in  the  dawn,  wet 
with  rain,  buffeted  by  wind,  and  —  most  of  all  —  a  shoer 
of  horses  ?  " 

But,  instead  of  answering,  I  pointed  to  a  twisted  figure 
that  lay  beneath  the  opposite  hedge. 

"  A  man ! "  exclaimed  the  Preacher,  "  and  asleep,  I 
think." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  not  in  that  contorted  attitude." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  right,"  said  the  Preacher ;  "  the  man 
is  ill  —  poor  fellow !  "  And,  hurrying  forward,  he  fell 
on  his  knees  beside  the  prostrate  figure. 

He  was  a  tall  man,  roughly  clad,  and  he  lay  upon  his 
back,  rigid  and  motionless,  while  upon  his  blue  hps  were 
flecks  and  bubbles  of  foam. 

"  Epilepsy !  "  said  I.  The  Preacher  nodded  and  busied 
himself  with  loosening  the  sodden  neckcloth,  the  while  I 
unclasped  the  icy  fingers  to  relieve  the  tension  of  the 
muscles. 


The  Epileptic  393 

The  man's  hair  was  long  and  matted,  as  was  also  his 
beard,  and  his  face  all  drawn  and  pale,  and  very  deeply 
lined.  Now,  as  I  looked  at  him,  I  had  a  vague  idea  that  I 
had  somewhere,  at  some  time,  seen  him  before. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Preacher,  looking  up,  "  will  you  help 
me  to  carry  him  to  my  cottage?     It  is  not  very  far." 

So  we  presently  took  the  man's  wasted  form  between  us 
and  bore  it,  easily  enough,  to  where  stood  a  small  cottage 
bowered  in  roses  and  honeysuckle.  And,  having  deposited 
our  unconscious  burden  upon  the  Preacher's  humble  bed, 
I  turned  to  depart. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Preacher,  holding  out  his  hand,  "  it  is 
seldom  one  meets  with  a  blacksmith  who  has  read  the 
Pythagorean  Philosophy  —  at  Oxford,  and  I  should  like 
to  see  you  again.  I  am  a  lonely  man  save  for  my  books; 
come  and  sup  with  me  some  evening,  and  let  us  talk  —  " 

"And  smoke.''"  said  I.  The  little  Preacher  sighed. 
"  I  will  come,"  said  I ;  "  thank  you !  and  good-by !  "  Now, 
even  as  I  spoke,  chancing  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  the  pale, 
still  face  on  the  bed,  I  felt  more  certain  than  ever  that  I 
had  somewhere  seen  it  before. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

IN    WHICH    I    COME    TO    A    DETERMINATION 

As  I  walked  through  the  fresh,  green  world  there  ensued 
within  me  the  following  dispute,  as  it  were,  between  myself 
and  two  voices ;  and  the  first  voice  I  will  call  Pro,  and  the 
other  Contra. 

Myself.    May  the  devil  take  that  "  Gabbing  Dick  " ! 

Pro.    He  probably  will. 

Myself.  Had  he  not  told  me  of  what  he  saw  —  of  the 
man  who  looked  at  my  Virgil  —  over  her  shoulder  — 

Pro.    Or  had  you  not  listened. 

Myself.  Ah,  yes !  —  but  then,  I  did  listen,  and  that  he 
spoke  the  truth  is  beyond  all  doubt;  the  misplaced  Virgil 
proves  that.  However,  it  is  certain,  yes,  very  certain,  that 
I  can  remain  no  longer  in  the  Hollow. 

Contra.  Well,  there  is  excellent  accommodation  at 
"  The  Bull." 

Pro.    And,  pray,  why  leave  the  Hollow.'' 

Myself.    Because  she  is  a  woman  — 

Pro.    And  you  love  her! 

Myself.    To  my  sorrow. 

Pro.  Well,  but  woman  was  made  for  man,  Peter,  and 
man  for  woman  — ! 

Myself  (sternly).    Enough  of  that  —  I  must  go ! 

Pro.    Being  full  of  bitter  jealousy. 

Myself.    No  ! 

Pro.    Being  a  mad,  jealous  fool  — 

Myself.    As  you  will. 

Pro.  —  who  has  condemned  her  unheard  —  with  no 
chance  of  justification. 


I  Come  to  a  Determination     395 

Myself.  To-morrow,  at  the  very  latest,  I  shall  seek 
some  other  habitation. 

Peg.    Has  she  the  look  of  guilt? 

Myself.  No;  but  then  women  are  deceitful  by  nature, 
and  very  skilful  in  disguising  their  faults  —  at  least  so 
I  have  read  in  my  books  — 

Peg  (contemptuously).     Books!     Books!     Books! 

Myself  (shortly).     No  matter;    I  have  decided. 

Peg.  Do  you  remember  how  willingly  she  worked  for 
you  with  those  slender,  capable  hands  of  hers  —  ? 

Myself.    Why  remind  me  of  this.? 

Peg.  You  must  needs  miss  her  presence  sorely ;  her 
footstep,  that  was  always  so  quick  and  light  — 

Myself.    Truly  wonderful  in  one  so  nobly  formed! 

Peg.    — and  the  way  she  had  of  singing  softly  to  herself. 

Myself.    A  beautiful  voice  — 

Peg,  With  a  caress  in  it !  And  then,  her  habit  of  look- 
ing at  you  over  her  shoulder. 

Myself.  Ah,  yes !  —  her  lashes  a  little  drooping,  her 
brows  a  little  wrinkled,  her  lips  a  little  parted. 

Cgntea.    a  comfortable  inn  is  "  The  Bull." 

Myself  (hastily).     Yes,  yes  —  certainly. 

Peg.  Ah !  —  her  lips  —  the  scarlet  witchery  of  her 
lips !  Do  you  remember  how  sweetly  the  lower  one  curved 
upward  to  its  fellow.?  A  mutinous  mouth,  with  its  sudden, 
bewildering  changes !  You  neVer  quite  knew  which  to 
watch  oftenest  —  her  eyes  or  her  lips  — 

Cgntea  (hoarsely).    Excellent  cooking  at  "  The  Bull  "  ! 

Peg.  And  how  she  would  berate  you  and  scoff  at  your 
Master  Epictetus,  and  dry-as-dust  philosophers !  " 

Myself.  I  have  sometimes  wondered  at  her  pronounced 
antipathy  to  Epictetus. 

Peg.    And  she  called  you  a  "  creature." 

Myself.    The  meaning  of  which  I  never  quite  fathomed. 

Peg.    And,  frequently,  a  "  pedant." 

Myself.    I  think  not  more  than  four  times. 

Peg.  On  such  occasions,  you  will  remember,  she  had  a 
petulant  way  of  twitching  her  shoulder  towards  you  and 


39^  The  Broad  Highway 

frowning,  and,  occasionally,  stamping  her  foot ;  and,  deep 
within  you,  you  loved  it  all,  you  know  you  did. 

CoNTKA.  But  that  is  all  over,  and  you  are  going  to 
"  The  Bull." 

Myself   (hurriedly).    To  be  sure  ~  "  The  Bull." 

Pro.  And,  lastly,  you  cannot  have  forgotten  —  you 
never  will  forget  —  the  soft  tumult  of  the  tender  bosom 
that  pillowed  your  battered  head  —  the  pity  of  her  hands 
—  those  great,  scalding  tears,  the  sudden,  swift  caress  of 
her  lips,  and  the  thrill  in  her  voice  when  she  said  — 

Myself  (hastily).     Stop!    that  is  all  forgotten. 

Peg.  You  lie!  You  have  dreamed  of  it  ever  since, 
working  at  your  anvil,  or  lying  upon  your  bed,  with  your 
eyes  upon  the  stars ;  you  have  loved  her  from  the  begin- 
ning of  things ! 

Myself.  And  I  did  not  know  it ;  I  was  very  blind.  The 
wonder  is  that  she  did  not  discover  my  love  for  her  long 
ago,  for,  not  knowing  it  was  there,  how  should  I  try  to 
hide  it.? 

Contra.  O  Blind,  and  more  than  blind!  Why  should 
you  suppose  she  hasn't.? 

Myself  (stopping  short).  What.?  Can  it  be  possible 
that  she  has.? 

Contra.  Did  n't  she  once  say  that  she  could  read  you 
like  a  book? 

Myself.    She  did. 

Contra.  And  have  you  not  often  surprised  a  smile 
upon  her  lips,  and  wondered.? 

Myself.    Many  times. 

Contra.  Have  you  not  beheld  a  thin-veiled  mockery  in 
her  look.?  Why,  poor  fool,  has  she  not  mocked  you  from 
the  first.?  You  dream  of  her  lips.  Were  not  their  smiles 
but  coquetry  and  derision.? 

Myself.    But  why  should  she  deride  me.? 

Contra.    For  your  youth  and  —  innocence. 

Myself.    My  youth !   my  innocence ! 

Contra.  Being  a  fool  ingrain,  did  n't  you  boast  that 
you  had  known  but  few  women? 


I  Come  to  a  Determination     397 

Myself.    I  did,  but  — 

Contra.  Did  n't  she  call  you  boy !  boy !  boy !  —  and 
laugh  at  you.'* 

Myself.    Well  —  even  so  — 

CoNTEA  (with  bitter  scorn).  O  Boy!  O  Innocent  of 
the  innocent!  Go  to,  for  a  bookish  fool!  Learn  that 
lovely  ladies  yield  themselves  but  to  those  who  are  master- 
ful in  their  wooing,  who  have  wooed  often,  and  triumphed 
as  often.  O  Innocent  of  the  innocent!  Forget  the  maud- 
lin sentiment  of  thy  books  and  old  romances  —  thy  pure 
Sir  Galahads,  thy  "  vary  parfait  gentil  knightes,"  thy 
meek  and  lowly  lovers  serving  their  ladies  on  bended  knee ; 
open  thine  eyes,  learn  that  women  to-day  love  only  the 
strong  hand,  the  bold  eye,  the  ready  tongue ;  kneel  to  her, 
and  she  will  scorn  and  contemn  you.  What  woman,  think 
you,  would  prefer  the  solemn,  stern-eyed  purity  of  a  Sir 
Galahad  (though  he  be  the  king  of  men)  to  the  quick- 
witted gayety  of  a  debonair  Lothario  (though  he  be  but 
the  shadow  of  a  man)  ?  Out  upon  thee,  pale-faced  student ! 
Thy  tongue  hath  not  the  trick,  nor  thy  mind  the  nimble- 
ness  for  the  winning  of  a  fair  and  lovely  lady.  Thou  'rt 
well  enough  in  want  of  a  better,  but,  when  Lothario  comes, 
must  she  not  run  to  meet  him  with  arms  outstretched? 

"  To-morrow,"  said  I,  clenching  my  fists,  "  to-morrow  I 
will  go  away  !  " 

Being  now  come  to  the  Hollow,  I  turned  aside  to  the 
brook,  at  that  place  where  was  the  pool  in  which  I  was 
wont  to  perform  my  morning  ablutions ;  and,  kneeling 
down,  I  gazed  at  myself  in  the  dark,  still  water;  and  I 
saw  that  the  night  had,  indeed,  set  its  mark  upon  me. 

"To-morrow,"  said  I  again,  nodding  to  the  wild  face 
below,  "to-morrow  I  will  go  far  hence." 

Now  while  I  yet  gazed  at  myself,  I  heard  a  sudden  gasp 
behind  me  and,  turning,  beheld  Charmian. 

"  Peter!  is  it  you.'*  "  she  whispered,  drawing  back  from 
me. 

"  Who  else,  Charmian  ?    Did  I  startle  you  ?  " 


39 8  The  Broad  Highway 

"Yes  — oh,  Peter!" 
"  Are  you  afraid  of  me?  " 

"  You  are  like  one  who  has  walked  with  —  death !  " 
I  rose  to  my  feet,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
"Are  you  airaid  of  me,  Charmian?  " 
"  No,  Peter." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  I,  "  because  I  want  to  ask 
you  —  to  marry  me,  Charmian." 


CHAPTER    XXIX 
in  which  chabmian  answers  my  question 

"  Peteb.  !  " 

"Yes?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't." 

"  Would  n't  what,  Chamiian?  " 

"  Stir  your  tea  round  and  round  and  round  —  it  is 
really  most  —  exasperating !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  said  I  humbly. 

"  And  you  eat  nothing ;  and  that  is  also  exasperating !  " 

"  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  And  I  was  so  careful  with  the  bacon  —  see  it  is  fried 
—  beautifully  —  yes,  you  are  very  exasperating,  Peter !  " 

Here,  finding  I  was  absent-mindedly  stirring  my  tea 
round  and  round  again,  I  gulped  it  down  out  of  the  way, 
whereupon  Charmian  took  my  cup  and  refilled  it ;  having 
done  which,  she  set  her  elbows  upon  the  table,  and,  prop- 
ping her  chin  in  her  hands,  looked  at  me. 

"  You  climbed  out  through  your  window  last  night, 
Peter.?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  —  dreadfully  tight  squeeze !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  why  did  you  go  by  the  window .''  " 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  you." 

"  That  was  very  thoughtful  of  you  —  only,  you  see,  I 
was  up  and  dressed;  the  roar  of  the  thunder  woke  me. 
It  was  a  dreadful  storm,  Peter ! " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  lightning  was  awful !  " 


400  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  were  out  in  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  you  poor,  poor  Peter!  How  cold  you  must  have 
been !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  began,  "  I  —  » 

"  And  wet,  Peter  —  miserably  wet  and  clammy !  " 

"  I  did  not  notice  it,"  I  murmured. 

"  Being  a  philosopher,  Peter,  and  too  much  engrossed 
in  your  thoughts?  " 

"  I  was  certainly  thinking." 

"  Of  yourself !  " 

"  Yes  —  " 

"You  are  a  great  egoist,  aren't  you,  Peter?" 

"Am  I,  Charmian?" 

"  Who  but  an  egoist  could  stand  with  his  mind  so  full 
of  himself  and  his  own  concerns  as  to  be  oblivious  to 
thunder  and  lightning,  and  not  know  that  he  is  miserably 
clammy  and  wet?  " 

"  I  thought  of  others  besides  myself." 

"  But  only  in  connection  with  yourself ;  everything  you 
have  ever  read  or  seen  you  apply  to  yourself,  to  make  that 
self  more  worthy  in  Mr.  Vibart's  eyes.  Is  this  worthy  of 
Peter  Vibart?  Can  Peter  Vibart  do  this,  that,  or  the  other, 
and  still  retain  the  respect  of  Peter  Vibart?  Then  why, 
being  in  all  things  so  very  correct  and  precise,  why  is 
Peter  Vibart  given  to  prowling  abroad  at  midnight,  quite 
oblivious  to  thunder,  lightning,  wet  and  clamminess?  I 
answer:  Because  Peter  Vibart  is  too  much  engrossed  by 
—  Peter  Vibart.  There !  that  sounds  rather  cryptic  and 
very  full  of  Peter  Vibart;  but  that  is  as  it  should  be," 
and  she  laughed. 

"And  what  does  it  mean,  Charmian?" 

"  Good  sir,  the  sibyl  hath  spoken !  Find  her  meaning 
for  yourself." 

"  You  have  called  me,  on  various  occasions,  a  '  creature,' 
a  '  pedant '  —  very  frequently  a  '  pedant,'  and  now,  it 
seems  I  am  an  '  egoist,'  and  all  because  —  " 


Charmian  Answers  my  Question     401 

"  Because  you  think  too  much,  Peter ;  you  never  open 
your  lips  without  having  first  thought  out  just  what  you 
are  going  to  say ;  you  never  do  anything  without  having 
laboriously  mapped  it  all  out  beforehand,  that  you  may 
not  outrage  Peter  Vibart's  tranquillity  by  any  impulsive 
act  or  speech.  Oh !  you  are  always  thinking  and  thinking 
—  and  that  is  even  worse  than  stirring,  and  stirring  at 
your  tea,  as  you  are  doing  now."  I  took  the  spoon 
hastily  from  my  cup,  and  laid  it  as  far  out  of  reach  as 
possible.  "  If  ever  you  should  write  the  book  you  once 
spoke  of,  it  would  be  just  the  very  sort  of  book  that  I 
should  —  hate." 

"Why,  Charmian.?" 

"  Because  it  would  be  a  book  of  artfully  turned  phrases ; 
a  book  in  which  all  the  characters,  especially  women,  would 
think  and  speak  and  act  by  rote  and  rule  —  as  according 
to  Mr.  Peter  Vibart;  it  would  be  a  scholarly  book,  of 
elaborate  finish  and  care  of  detail,  with  no  irregularities 
of  style  or  anything  else  to  break  the  monotonous  har- 
mony of  the  whole  —  indeed,  sir,  it  would  be  a  most  un- 
readable book !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Charmian  ?  "  said  I,  once  more  tak- 
ing up  the  teaspoon. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  she  answered,  with  raised  brows ; 
**  it  would  probably  be  full  of  Greek  and  Latin  quotations ! 
And  you  would  polish  and  rewrite  it  until  you  had  polished 
every  vestige  of  life  and  spontaneity  out  of  it,  as  you  do 
out  of  yourself,  with  your  thinking  and  thinking." 

"  But  I  never  quote  you  Greek  or  Latin ;  that  is  surely 
something,  and,  as  for  thinking,  would  you  have  me  a 
thoughtless  fool  or  an  Impulsive  ass.?" 

"  Anything  rather  than  a  calculating,  introspective 
philosopher,  seeing  only  the  mote  in  the  sunbeam,  and 
nothing  of  the  glory."  Here  she  gently  disengaged  the 
teaspoon  from  my  fingers  and  laid  it  in  her  own  saucer, 
having  done  which  she  sighed,  and  looked  at  me  with  her 
head  to  one  side.  "  Were  they  all  like  you,  Peter,  I  won- 
der —  those  old  philosophers,  grim  and  stem,  and  terribly 


402  The  Broad  Highway 

repressed,  with  burning  eyes,  Peter,  and  with  very  long 
chins?     Epictetus  was,  of  course!" 

"And  you  dislike  Epictetus,  Charmian?  " 

"  I  detest  him !  He  was  just  the  kind  of  person,  Peter, 
who,  being  unable  to  sleep,  would  have  wandered  out  into 
a  terrible  thunderstorm,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and, 
being  cold  and  wet  and  clammy,  Peter,  would  have  drawn 
moral  lessons,  and  made  epigrams  upon  the  thunder  and 
hghtning.     Epictetus,  I  am  quite  sure,  was  a  —  person !  " 

"  He  was  one  of  the  wisest,  gentlest,  and  most  lovable 
of  all  the  Stoics !  "  said  I. 

"  Can  a  philosopher  possibly  be  lovable,  Peter?  "  Here 
I  very  absent-mindedly  took  up  a  fork,  but,  finding  her 
eye  upon  me,  laid  it  down  again. 

"  You  are  very  nervous,  Peter,  and  very  pale  and  worn 
and  haggard,  and  all  because  you  habitually  —  overthink 
yourself;  and  indeed,  there  is  something  very  far  wrong 
with  a  man  who  perseveringly  stirs  an  empty  cup  —  with 
a  fork !  "  And,  with  a  laugh,  she  took  my  cup  and,  hav- 
ing once  more  refilled  it,  set  it  before  me. 

"  And  yet,  Peter  —  I  don't  think  —  no,  I  don't  think 
I  would  have  you  very  much  changed,  after  all." 

"  You  mean  that  you  would  rather  I  remained  the 
pedantic,  egotistical  creature  —  " 

"  I  mean,  Peter,  that,  being  a  woman,  I  naturally  love 
novelty,  and  you  are  very  novel  —  and  very  interesting." 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  I,  frowning. 

"  And  more  contradictory  than  any  woman !  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  You  are  so  strong  and  simple  —  so  wise  and  brave 
—  and  so  very  weak  and  foolish  and  timid !  " 

"Timid?"  said  I. 

"  Timid !  "  nodded  she. 

"  I  am  a  vast  fool !  "  I  acknowledged. 

"  And  I  never  knew  a  man  anything  like  you  before, 
Peter ! " 

"  And  you  have  known  many,  I  understand?  " 

"  Very  many." 


Charmian  Answers  my  Question     403 

"  Yes  —  you  told  me  so  once  before,  I  believe." 

"  Twice,  Peter ;  and  each  time  you  became  very  silent 
and  gloomy !  Now  you,  on  the  other  hand,"  she  continued, 
"  have  known  very  few  women  ?  " 

"  And  my  life  has  been  calm  and  unruffled  in  conse- 
quence !  *' 

"  You  had  your  books,  Peter,  and  your  horseshoes." 

"  My  books  and  horseshoes,  yes." 

"  And  were  content.''  " 

"  Quite  content." 

"  Until,  one  day  —  a  woman  —  came  to  you." 

"  Until,  one  day  —  I  met  a  woman." 

"  And  then  —  ?  " 

"  And  then  —  I  asked  her  to  marry  me,  Charmian." 
Here  there  ensued  a  pause,  during  which  Charmian  began 
to  pleat  a  fold  in  the  tablecloth. 

"  That  was  rather  —  unwise  of  you,  was  n't  it .''  "  said 
she  at  last. 

"  How  unwise.''  " 

"  Because  —  she  might  —  have  taken  you  at  your  word, 
Peter." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  —  that  you  won't,  Charmian.''  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  I  have  arrived  at  no  decision  yet  — 
how  could  I.''  You  must  give  me  time  to  consider."  Here 
she  paused  in  her  pleating  to  regard  it  critically,  with 
her  head  on  one  side.  "  To  be  sure,"  said  she,  with  a 
little  nod,  "  to  be  sure,  you  need  some  one  to  —  to  look 
after  you  —  that  is  very  evident !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  To  cook  —  and  wash  for  you." 

"  Yes." 

"  To  mend  your  clothes  for  you." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  think  me  —  suflSciently  competent.?  " 

*'  Oh,  Charmian,  I  —  yes." 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  she,  very  solemnly,  and,  though 
her  lashes  had  drooped,  I  felt  the  mockery  of  her  eyes ; 
wherefore  I  took  a  sudden  great  gulp  of  tea,  and  came 


404  The  Broad  Highway 

near  choking,  while  Charmian  began  to  pleat  another  fold 
in  the  tablecloth. 

"  And  so  Mr.  Vibart  would  stoop  to  wed  so  humble  a 
person  as  Charmian  Brown?  Mr.  Peter  Vibart  would,  act- 
ually, marry  a  woman  of  whose  past  he  knows  nothing  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  That,  again,  would  be  rather  —  unwise,  would  n't  it.?  " 

"Why.?" 

"  Considering  Mr.  Vibart's  very  lofty  ideals  in  regard 
to  women." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  once  say  that  your  wife's  name  must  be 
above  suspicion  —  like  Caesar's  —  or  something  of  the 
kind.?" 

"  Did  1?  —  yes,  perhaps  I  did  —  well.?  " 

"  Well,  this  woman  —  this  Humble  Person  has  no  name 
at  all,  and  no  shred  of  reputation  left  her.  She  has  com- 
promised herself  beyond  all  redemption  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world." 

"  But  then,"  said  I,  "  this  world  and  I  have  always 
mutually  despised  each  other." 

"  She  ran  away,  this  woman  —  eloped  with  the  most 
notorious,  the  most  accomplished  rake  in  London." 

"Well.?" 

"  Oh !  —  is  not  that  enough?  " 

"  Enough  for  what,  Charmian  ?  "  I  saw  her  busy  fingers 
falter  and  tremble,  but  her  voice  was  steady  when  she 
answered : 

*'  Enough  to  make  any  —  wise  man  think  twice  before 
asking  this  Humble  Person  to  —  to  marry  him." 

"  I  might  think  twenty  times,  and  it  would  be  all  one !  " 

"You  — mean— ?" 

*'  That  if  Charmian  Brown  will  stoop  to  marry  a  village 
blacksmith,  Peter  Vibart  will  find  happiness  again ;  a 
happiness  that  is  not  of  the  sunshine  —  nor  the  wind  in 
the  trees  —  Lord,  what  a  fool  I  was !  "  Her  fingers  had 
stopped  altogether  now,  but  she  neither  spoke  nor  raised 
her  head. 


Charmian  Answers  my  Question    405 

"  Charmian,"  said  I,  leaning  nearer  across  the  table, 
"  speak." 

"  Oh,  Peter ! "  said  she,  with  a  sudden  break  in  her 
voice,  and  stooped  her  head  lower.  Yet  in  a  little  she 
looked  up  at  me,  and  her  eyes  were  very  sweet  and  shining. 

Now,  as  our  glances  met  thus,  up  from  throat  to  brow 
there  crept  that  hot,  slow  wave  of  color,  and  in  her  face 
and  in  her  eyes  I  seemed  to  read  joy,  and  fear,  and  shame, 
and  radiant  joy  again.  But  now  she  bent  her  head  once 
more,  and  strove  to  pleat  another  fold,  and  could  not; 
while  I  grew  suddenly  afraid  of  her  and  of  myself,  and 
longed  to  hurl  aside  the  table  that  divided  us ;  and  thrust 
my  hands  deep  into  my  pockets,  and,  finding  there  my 
tobacco-pipe,  brought  it  out  and  fell  to  turning  it  aim- 
lessly over  and  over.  I  would  have  spoken,  only  I  knew 
that  my  voice  would  tremble,  and  so  I  sat  mum-chance, 
staring  at  my  pipe  with  unseeing  eyes,  and  with  my  brain 
in  a  ferment.  And  presently  came  her  voice,  cool  and 
sweet  and  sane: 

"  Your  tobacco,  Peter,"  and  she  held  the  box  towards 
me  across  the  table, 

"  Ah,  thank  you !  "  said  I,  and  began  to  fill  my  pipe, 
while  she  watched  me  with  her  chin  propped  in  her  hands. 

"  Peter ! " 

"Yes,  Charmian.?" 

"  I  wonder  why  so  grave  a  person  as  Mr.  Peter  Vibart 
should  seek  to  marry  so  impossible  a  creature  as  —  the 
Humble  Person?  " 

"  I  think,"  I  answered,  "  I  think,  if  there  is  any  special 
reason,  it  is  because  of  —  your  mouth." 

"My  mouth?" 

"  Or  your  eyes  —  or  the  way  you  have  with  your 
lashes." 

Charmian  laughed,  and  forthwith  drooped  them  at  me, 
and  laughed  again,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  But  surely,  Peter,  surely  there  are  thousands,  mil- 
lions of  women  with  mouths  and  eyes  like  —  the  Humble 
Person's  ?  " 


4o6  The  Broad  Highway 

"  It  is  possible,"  said  I,  "  but  none  who  have  the  same 
way  with  their  lashes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell ;   I  don't  know." 

"Don't  you,  Peter.?" 

"  No  —  it  is  just  a  way." 

"  And  so  it  is  that  you  want  to  marry  this  very  Humble 
Person.'*  " 

"  I  think  I  have  wanted  to  from  the  very  first,  but  did 
not  know  it  —  being  a  blind  fool !  " 

"  And  —  did  it  need  a  night  walk  in  a  thunderstorm  to 
teach  you  .'*  " 

"  No  —  that  is,  yes  —  perhaps  it  did." 

"  And  —  are  you  quite,  quite  sure  .'*  " 

"  Quite  —  quite  sure !  "  said  I,  and,  as  I  spoke,  I  laid 
my  pipe  upon  the  table  and  rose;  and,  because  my  hands 
were  trembling,  I  clenched  my  fists.  But,  as  I  approached 
her,  she  started  up  and  put  out  a  hand  to  hold  me  off,  and 
then  I  saw  that  her  hands  were  trembling  also.  And  stand- 
ing thus,  she  spoke,  very  softly : 

"  Peter." 

"Yes,  Charmian.?" 

"  Do  you  remember  describing  to  me  the  —  the  perfect 
woman  who  should  be  your  —  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  that  you  must  be  able  to  respect  her  for  her 
intellect.?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Honor  her  for  her  virtue.?  " 

"  Yes,  Charmian." 

"  And  worship  her  —  for  her  —  spotless  purity?  " 

"  I  dreamed  a  paragon  —  perfect  and  impossible ;  I  was 
a  fool !  "  said  I. 

"  Impossible !    Oh,  Peter !  what  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  She  was  only  an  impalpable  shade  quite  impossible  of 
realization  —  a  bloodless  thing,  as  you  said,  and  quite 
unnatural  —  a  sickly  figment  of  the  imagination.  I  was 
a  fool !  " 


Charmian  Answers  my  Question     407 

"  And  you  are  —  too  wise  now,  to  expect  —  such  virtues 
—  in  any  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "no  —  oh,  Charmian !  I  only  know 
that  you  have  taken  this  phantom's  place  —  that  you  fill 
all  my  thoughts  —  sleeping,  and  waking  —  " 

"  No !  No !  "  she  cried,  and  struggled  in  my  arms,  so 
that  I  caught  her  hands,  and  held  them  close,  and  kissed 
them  many  times. 

"  Oh,  Charmian  !  Charmian !  —  don't  you  know  —  can't 
you  see  —  it  is  you  I  want  —  you,  and  only  you  forever ; 
whatever  you  were  —  whatever  you  are  —  I  love  you  — 
love  you,  and  always  must !  Marry  me,  Charmian !  — 
marry  me !  and  you  shall  be  dearer  than  my  life  —  more  to 
me  than  my  soul  —  "  But,  as  I  spoke,  her  hands  were 
snatched  away,  her  eyes  blazed  into  mine,  and  her  lips  were 
all  bitter  scorn,  and  at  the  sight,  fear  came  upon  me. 

"  Marry  you  !  "  she  panted ;  "  marry  you.''  —  no  and  no 
and  no !  "  And  so  she  stamped  her  foot,  and  sobbed,  and 
turning,  fled  from  me,  out  of  the  cottage. 

And  now  to  fear  came  wonder,  and  with  wonder  was 
despair. 

Truly,  was  ever  man  so  great  a  fool ! 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CONCEENING  THE  FATE  OF  BLACK  GEORGE 

A  BROAD,  white  road ;  on  either  hand  some  half-dozen  cot- 
tages with  roofs  of  thatch  or  red  tile,  backed  by  trees 
gnarled  and  ancient,  among  which  rises  the  red  conical 
roof  of  some  oast-house.     Such,  in  a  word,  is  Sissinghurst. 

Now,  upon  the  left-hand  side  of  the  way,  there  stands  a 
square,  comfortable,  whitewashed  building,  peaked  of  roof, 
bright  as  to  windows,  and  with  a  mighty  sign  before  the 
door,  whereon  you  shall  behold  the  picture  of  a  bull:  a 
bull  rolling  of  eye,  astonishingly  curly  of  horn  and  stiff 
as  to  tail,  and  with  a  prodigious  girth  of  neck  and  shoul- 
der; such  a  snorting,  fiery-eyed,  curly-horned  bull  as  was 
never  seen  off  an  inn-sign. 

It  was  at  this  bull  that  I  was  staring  with  much  appar- 
ent interest,  though  indeed,  had  that  same  curly-horned 
monstrosity  been  changed  by  some  enchanter's  wand  into 
a  green  dragon  or  griffin,  or  swan  with  two  necks,  the 
chances  are  that  I  should  have  continued  sublimely  uncon- 
scious of  the  transformation. 

Yet  how  should  honest  Silas  Hoskins,  ostler,  and  gen- 
eral factotum  of  "  The  Bull  "  inn,  be  aware  of  this  fact, 
who,  being  thus  early  at  work,  and  seeing  me  lost  in  con- 
templation, paused  to  address  me  in  all  good  faith.? 

"  A  fine  bull  'e  be,  eh,  Peter.''  Look  at  them  'orns,  an' 
that  theer  tail ;  it 's  seldom  as  you  sees  'orns  or  a  tail  the 
like  o'  them,  eh.''  " 

"  Very  seldom !  "  I  answered,  and  sighed. 

"An'  then  —  'is  nose-'oles,  Peter,  jest  cast  your  eye 
on  them  nose-'oles,  will  ye;   why,  dang  me!  if  I  can't  'ear 


The  Fate  of  Black  George       409 

'im  a-snortin'  when  I  looks  at  'em !  An'  'e  were  all  painted 
by  a  chap  —  a  little  old  chap  wi'  gray  whiskers  —  no 
taller  'n  your  elber,  Peter !  Think  o'  that  —  a  little  chap 
no  taller  'n  your  elber !  I  seen  'im  do  it  wi'  my  two  eyes 
—  a-sittin'  on  a  box.  Drored  t'  bull  in  wi'  a  bit  o'  chalk, 
first ;  then  'e  outs  wi'  a  couple  o'  brushes ;  dab  'e  goes,  an' 
dab,  dab  again,  an'  —  by  Goles !  theer  was  a  pair  o'  eyes 
a-rolHn'  theirselves  at  me  —  just  a  pair  o'  eyes,  Peter. 
Ah!  'e  were  a  wonder  were  that  little  old  chap  wi'  gray 
whiskers !  The  way  'e  went  at  that  theer  bull,  a-dabbin'  at 
'im  'ere,  an'  a-dabbin'  at  'im  theer  till  'e  come  to  'is  tail  — 
'e  done  'is  tail  last  of  all,  Peter.  '  Give  un  a  good  tail ! ' 
says  I.  '  Ah  !  that  I  will,'  says  'e.  *  An'  a  good  stiff  un  ! ' 
says  I.  *  Ye  jest  keep  your  eye  on  it,  an'  watch! '  says  'e. 
Talk  about  tails,  Peter !  'E  put  in  that  theer  tail  so  quick 
as  nigh  made  my  eyes  water,  an'  —  as  for  stiffness  —  well, 
look  at  it !  I  tell  'ee  that  chap  could  paint  a  bull  wi'  'is  eyes 
shut,  ah,  that  'e  could !  an'  'im  such  a  very  small  man  — 
wi'  gray  whiskers.  No,  ye  don't  see  many  bulls  like  that 
un  theer,  I  'm  thinkin',  Peter  ?  " 

"  They  would  be  very  hard  to  find !  "  said  I,  and  sighed 
again.  Whereupon  Silas  sighed,  for  company's  sake,  and 
nodding,  went  off  about  his  many  duties,  whistling 
cheerily. 

So  I  presently  turned  about  and  crossed  the  road  to  the 
smithy.  But  upon  the  threshold  I  stopped  all  at  once  and 
drew  softly  back,  for,  despite  the  early  hour,  Prudence 
was  there,  upon  her  knees  before  the  anvil,  with  George's 
great  hand-hanuner  clasped  to  her  bosom,  sobbing  over  it, 
and,  while  she  sobbed,  she  kissed  its  worn  handle.  And 
because  such  love  was  sacred  and  hallowed  that  dingy 
place,  I  took  off  my  hat  as  I  once  more  crossed  the  road. 

Seeing  "  The  Bull "  was  not  yet  astir,  for  the  day  was 
still  young  (as  I  say),  I  sat  me  down  in  the  porch  and 
sighed. 

And  after  I  had  sat  there  for  some  while,  with  my  chin 
sunk  upon  my  breast,  and"  plunged  in  bitter  meditation, 
I  became  aware  of  the  door  opening,  and  next  moment  a 


4IO  The  Broad  Highway 

tremulous  hand  was  laid  upon  my  head,  and,  looking  round, 
I  beheld  the  Ancient. 

"  Bless  'ee,  Peter  —  bless  'ee,  lad !  —  an'  a  old  man's 
blessin'  be  no  light  thing  —  'specially  such  a  old,  old  man 
as  I  be  —  an'  it  bean't  often  as  I  feels  in  a  blessin'  sperrit 
—  but  oh,  Peter !    't  were  me  as  found  ye,  were  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  it  was,  Ancient,  very  nearly  five 
months  ago." 

"  An'  I  be  alius  ready  wi'  some  noos  for  ye,  bean't  I .''  " 

"  Yes,  indeed !  " 

"  Well,  I  got  more  noos  for  'ee,  Peter  —  gert  noos !  " 

"  And  what  is  it  this  time.''  " 

"  I  be  alius  full  up  o'  noos,  bean't  I.''  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  Ancient,"  said  I,  and  sighed ;  "  and  what  is  your 
news  ?  " 

"  Why,  first  of  all,  Peter,  jest  reach  me  my  snuff-box, 
will  'ee.''  —  'ere  it  be  —  in  my  back  'ind  pocket  —  thankee ! 
thankee !  "  Hereupon  he  knocked  upon  the  lid  with  a  bony 
knuckle.  "  I  du  be  that  full  o'  noos  this  marnin'  that  my 
innards  be  all  of  a  quake,  Peter,  all  of  a  quake ! "  he 
nodded,  saying  which,  he  sat  down  close  beside  me. 

"  Peter." 

"Yes,  Ancient.?  " 

"  Some  day  —  when  that  theer  old  stapil  be  all  rusted 
away,  an'  these  old  bones  is  a-restin'  in  the  churchyard  — 
over  to  Cranbrook,  Peter  —  you  '11  think,  sometimes,  o' 
the  very  old  man  as  was  always  so  full  o'  noos,  won't  'ee, 
Peter.?  " 

"  Surely,  Ancient,  I  shall  never  forget  you,"  said  I, 
and  sighed. 

"  An'  now,  Peter,"  said  the  old  man,  extracting  a  pinch 
of  snuif,  "  now  for  the  noos  —  'bout  Black  Jarge,  it  be." 

"What  of  him,  Ancient.''"  The  old  man  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  took  eight  on  'em  to  du  it,  Peter,  an'  now  four  on 
'em  's  a-layin'  in  their  beds,  an'  four  on  'em  's  'obblin'  on 
crutches  —  an'  all  over  a  couple  o'  rabbits  —  though  theer 
be  some  fules  as  says  they  was  pa'tridges !  " 


The  Fate  of  Black  George       411 

"  Why  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Peter,  Black  Jarge  be  such  a  gert,  strong 
man  (I  were  much  such  another  when  I  were  young)  — 
like  a  lion,  in  'is  wrath,  'e  be  —  ah !  —  a  bull  bean't  nothin' 
to  Black  Jarge !  An'  they  keepers  come  an'  found  'im 
under  a  tree,  fast  asleep  —  like  David  in  the  Cave  of  Adul- 
1am,  Peter,  wi'  a  couple  o'  rabbits  as  'e  'd  snared.  An'  when 
they  keepers  tried  to  tak'  'im,  'e  rose  up,  'e  did,  an'  throwed 
some  on  'em  this  way  an'  some  on  'em  that  way  —  't  were 
like  Samson  an'  the  Philistines;  if  only  'e 'd  'appened  to 
find  the  jaw-bone  of  a  ass  lyin'  'andy,  'e  'd  ha'  killed  'em 
all  an'  got  away,  sure  as  sure.  But  it  were  n't  to  be,  Peter, 
no;  dead  donkeys  be  scarce  nowadays,  an'  as  for  asses' 
jaw-bones  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  George  is  taken  —  a  prisoner  .f*  " 

The  Ancient  nodded,  and  inhaled  his  pinch  of  snuff  with 
much  evident  relish. 

"  It  be  gert  noos,  bean't  it,  Peter.''  " 

"  What  have  they  done  with  him .''  Where  is  he.  An- 
cient.'' "  But,  before  the  old  man  could  answer,  Simon 
appeared. 

"  Ah,  Peter !  "  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "  the  Gaffer  's 
been  tellin'  ye  'ow  they  've  took  Jarge  for  poachin',  I 
suppose  —  " 

"  Simon !  "  cried  the  Ancient,  "  shut  thy  mouth,  lad  — 
hold  thy  gab  an'  give  thy  poor  old  feyther  a  chance  —  I 
be  tellin'  'im  so  fast  as  I  can !  As  I  was  a-sayin',  Peter  — 
like  a  fur'us  Hon  were  Jarge  wi'  they  keepers  —  eight  on 
'em,  Peter  —  like  dogs,  a-growlin'  an'  growlin',  an'  leapin', 
and  worryin'  all  round  'im  —  ah !  —  like  a  lion  'e  were  —  " 

"  Waitin'  for  a  chance  to  use  'is  '  right,'  d'  ye  see, 
Peter !  "  added  Simon. 

Ancient.  Wi'  'is  eyes  a-roUin'  an'  flamin',  Peter,  an' 
'is  mane  all  bristlin'  — 

Simon.    Cool  as  any  cucumber,  Peter  — 

Ancient.    A-roarin'  an'  a-lashin'  of  'is  tail  — 

Simon.  And  sparrin'  for  an  openin',  Peter,  and  when 
'e  sees  one  —  downin'  'is  man  every  time  — 


412  The  Broad  Highway 

Ancient.  Leapin'  in  the  air,  rollin'  in  the  grass,  wi' 
they  keepers  clingin'  to  'im  like  leeches  —  ah !  leeches  — 

Simon.  And  every  time  they  rushed,  tap  'ud  go  'is 
"  left,"  and  bang  'ud  go  'is  "  right  "  — 

Ancient.  An'  up  'e  'd  get,  like  Samson  again,  Peter, 
an'  give  'isself  a  shake ;  bellerin'  —  like  a  bull  o'  Bashan  — 

Simon.  Ye  see,  they  fou't  so  close  together  that  the 
keepers  was  afear'd  to  use  their  guns  — 

Ancient  (indignantly).  Guns!  —  who's  a-talkin'  o' 
guns.''  Simon,  my  bye  —  you  be  alius  a-maggin'  an' 
a-maggin' ;  bridle  thy  tongue,  lad,  bridle  thy  tongue  afore 
it  runs  away  wi'  ye. 

Simon    (sheepishly).     All  right,  Old  Un  —  fire  away! 

But,  at  this  juncture.  Old  Amos  hove  in  view,  followed 
by  the  Apologetic  Dutton,  with  Job  and  sundry  others,  on 
their  way  to  work,  and,  as  they  came,  they  talked  to- 
gether, with  much  solemn  wagging  of  heads.  Having 
reached  the  door  of  "  The  Bull,"  they  paused  and  greeted 
us,  and  I  thought  Old  Amos's  habitual  grin  seemed  a  trifle 
more  pronounced  than  usual. 

"  So  poor  Jarge  'as  been  an'  gone  an'  done  for  'isself 
at  last,  eh?  Oh,  my  soul!  think  o'  that,  now!"  sighed 
Old  Amos. 

"  Alius  knowed  as  'e  would !  "  added  Job ;  "  many  's  the 
time  I  've  said  as  'e  would,  an'  you  know  it  —  all  on  you." 

"  It  '11  be  the  Barbadies,  or  Austrayley !  "  grinned 
Amos ;  "  transportation,  it  '11  be  —  Oh,  my  soul !  think  o' 
that  now  —  an'  'im  a  Siss'n'urst  man !  " 

"  An'  all  along  o'  a  couple  o'  —  rabbits !  "  said  the 
Ancient,  emphasizing  the  last  word  with  a  loud  rap  on  his 
snuff-box. 

"  Pa'tridges,  Gaffer !  —  they  was  pa'tridges !  "  returned 
Old  Amos. 

"  I  alius  said  as  Black  Jarge  'd  come  to  a  bad  end,"  re- 
iterated Job,  "  an'  what  's  more  —  'e  are  n't  got  nobody 
to  blame  but  'isself !  " 

"  An'  all  for  a  couple  o'  —  rabbits !  "  sighed  the  An- 
cient, staring  Old  Amos  full  in  the  eye. 


The  Fate  of  Black  George       413 

"  Partridges,  Gaffer,  they  was  pa'tridges  —  you,  James 
Dutton  —  was  they  pa'tridges  or  was  they  not  —  speak 
up,  James." 

Hereupon  the  man  Dutton,  all  perspiring  apology,  as 
usual,  shuffled  forward,  and,  mopping  his  reeking  brow, 
delivered  himself  in  this  wise: 

"  W'ich  I  must  say  —  meanin'  no  offence  to  nobody,  an' 
if  so  be,  apologizin'  —  w'ich  I  must  say  —  me  'avin'  seen 
'em  —  they  was  —  leastways,"  he  added,  as  he  met  the 
Ancient's  piercing  eye,  "  leastways  —  they  might  'ave 
been,  w'ich  —  if  they  ain't  —  no  matter !  " 

Having  said  which,  he  apologetically  smeared  his  face  all 
over  with  his  shirt-sleeve,  and  subsided  again. 

"  It  do  wring  my  'eart  —  ah,  that  it  do !  to  think  o' 
pore  Jarge  a  convic'  at  Bot'ny  Bay !  "  said  Old  Amos, 
"  a-workin',  an'  diggin',  an'  slavin'  wi'  irons  on  'is  legs  an' 
arms,  a-jinglin',  an'  a-janglin'  when  'e  walks." 

"  Well,  but  it 's  Justice,  are  n't  it  ?  "  demanded  Job  — 
"  a  poacher  's  a  thief,  an'  a  thief  's  a  convic'  —  or  should 
be!" 

"  I  've  'eerd,"  said  Old  Amos,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  've 
'eerd  as  they  ties  they  convic's  up  to  posts,  an'  lashes  an' 
lashes  'em  wi'  the  cat-o'-nine-tails !  " 

"  They  generally  mostly  deserves  it !  "  nodded  Job. 

"  But  't  is  'ard  to  think  o'  pore  Jarge  tied  up  to  one  o' 
them  floggin'-posts,  wi'  'is  back  all  raw  an'  bleedin' !  "  pur- 
sued Old  Amos ;  "  crool  'ard  it  be,  an'  'im  such  a  fine, 
strappin'  young  chap." 

"  'E  were  alius  a  sight  too  fond  o'  pitchin'  into  folk, 
Jarge  were !  "  said  Job ;  "  it  be  a  mercy  as  my  back 
were  n't  broke  more  nor  once." 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  the  Ancient,  "  you  must  be  amazin' 
strong  in  the  back,  Job !  The  way  I  've  seed  'ee  come 
a-rollin'  an'  a-wallerin'  out  o'  that  theer  smithy  's  wonner- 
ful,  wonnerful.     Lord !    Job  —  'ow  you  did  roll !  " 

"  Well,  'e  won't  never  do  it  no  more,"  said  Job,  glower- 
ing ;  "  what  wi'  poachin'  'is  game,  an'  knockin'  'is  keepers 
about,  't  are  n't  likely  as  Squire  Beverley  '11  let  'im  off  very 
easy  —  " 


414  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Who?  "  said  I,  looking  up,  and  speaking  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Squire  Beverley  o'  Burn'am  'All." 

"  Sir  Peregrine  Beverley?  " 

"  Ay,  for  sure." 

"  And  how  far  is  it  to  Bumham  Hall?  " 

" 'Ow  fur?"  repeated  Job,  staring;  "  wh}'^,  it  lays 
't  other  side  o'  Horsmonden  —  " 

"  It  be  a  matter  o'  eight  mile,  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient. 

"  Nine,  Peter!  "  cried  old  Amos  —  "  nine  mile,  it  be !  " 

"  Though  I  won't  swear,  Peter,"  continued  the  Ancient, 
"  I  won't  swear  as  it  are  n't  —  seven  —  call  it  six  an' 
three  quarters !  "  said  he,  with  his  eagle  eye  on  Old  Amos. 

"  Then  I  had  better  start  now,"  said  I,  and  rose. 

"  Why,  Peter  —  wheer  be  goin'  ?  " 

"  To  Burnham  Hall,  Ancient." 

"  What  —  you?  "  exclaimed  Job ;  "  d'  ye  think  Squire  '11 
see  you?  " 

"  I  think  so ;    yes." 

"  Well,  'e  won't  —  they  '11  never  let  the  likes  o'  you  or 
me  beyond  the  gates." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  I. 

"  So  you  'm  goin',  are  ye?  " 

"  I  certainly  am." 

"  All  right !  "  nodded  Job,  "  if  they  sets  the  dogs  on  ye, 
,  or  chucks  you  into  the  road  —  don't  go  blamin'  it  on  to 
me,  that 's  all !  " 

"  What  —  be  ye  really  a-goin',  Peter?  " 

"  I  really  am.  Ancient." 

"  Then  —  by  the  Lord !  —  I  '11  go  wi'  ye." 

"  It 's  a  long  walk !  " 

"  Nay  —  Simon  shall  drive  us  in  the  cart." 

"  That  I  will !  "  nodded  the  Innkeeper. 

"  Ay,  lad,"  cried  the  Ancient,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
arm,  "  we  '11  up  an'  see  Squire,  you  an'  me  —  shall  us, 
Peter?  There  be  some  fules,"  said  he,  looking  round  upon 
the  staring  company,  "  some  fules  as  talks  o'  Bot'ny  Bay, 
an'  irons,   an'  whippin'-posts  - —  all   I  says   is  —  let  *em. 


The  Fate  of  Black  George       415 

Peter,  let  'em !  You  an'  me  '11  up  an'  see  Squire,  Peter, 
sha'n't  us?  Black  Jarge  aren't  a  convie'  yet,  let  fules 
say  what  they  will ;  we  '11  show  'em,  Peter,  we  '11  show 
'em !  "  So  saying,  the  old  man  led  me  into  the  kitchen 
of  "  The  Bull,"  while  Simon  went  to  have  the  horses 
put  to. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

IN    WHICH    THE    ANCIENT    IS    SURPEISED 

A  CHEERY  place,  at  all  times,  is  the  kitchen  of  an  English 
inn,  a  comfortable  place  to  eat  in,  to  talk  in,  or  to  doze 
in;  a  place  with  which  your  parlors  and  withdrawing- 
rooms,  your  salons  {a  la  the  three  Louis)  with  their  irri- 
tating rococo,  their  gilt  and  satin,  and  spindle-legged 
discomforts,  are  not  (to  my  mind)  worthy  to  compare. 

And  what  inn  kitchen,  in  all  broad  England,  was  ever 
brighter,  neater,  and  more  comfortable  than  this  kitchen 
of  "  The  Bull,"  where  sweet  Prue  held  supreme  sway,  with 
such  grave  dignity,  and  with  her  two  white-capped  maids 
to  do  her  bidding  and  behests  ?  —  surely  none.  And  surely 
in  no  inn,  tavern,  or  hostelry  soever,  great  or  small,  was 
there  ever  seen  a  daintier,  prettier,  sweeter  hostess  than 
this  same  Prue  of  ours. 

And  her  presence  was  reflected  everywhere,  and,  if  ever 
the  kitchen  of  an  inn  possessed  a  heart  to  lose,  then,  be- 
yond all  doubt,  this  kitchen  had  lost  its  heart  to  Prue  long 
since;  even  the  battered  cutlasses  crossed  upon  the  wall, 
the  ponderous  jack  above  the  hearth,  with  its  legend:  anno 
DOMINI  1643,  took  on  a  brighter  sheen  to  greet  her  when 
she  came,  and  as  for  the  pots  and  pans,  they  fairly  twinkled. 

But  today  Prue's  eyes  were  red,  and  her  lips  were  all 
a-droop,  the  which,  though  her  smile  was  brave  and  ready, 
the  Ancient  was  quick  to  notice. 

"  Why,  Prue,  lass,  you  've  been  weepin' !  " 

"  Yes,  grandfer." 

"  Your  pretty  eyes  be  all  swole  —  red  they  be ;  what 's 
the  trouble?  " 


The  Ancient  is  Surprised       417 

"Oh!    'tis  nothing,  dear,  'tis  just  a  maid's  fulishness 

—  never  mind  me,  dear." 

"  Ah !  but  I  love  'ee,  Prue  —  come,  kiss  me  —  theer  now, 
teU  me  all  about  it  —  all  about  it,  Prue." 

"  Oh,  grandfer !  "  said  she,  from  the  hollow  of  his  shoul- 
der, "  't  is  j  ust  —  Jarge !  "  The  old  man  grew  very  still, 
his  mouth  opened  slowly,  and  closed  with  a  snap. 

"  Did  'ee  —  did  'ee  say  —  Jarge,  Prue  ?  Is  it  —  breekin' 
your  'eart  ye  be  for  that  theer  poachin'  Black  Jarge? 
To  think  —  as  my  Prue  should  come  down  to  a 
poachin'  —  " 

Prudence  slipped  from  his  encircling  arm  and  stood 
up  very  straight  and  proud  —  there  were  tears  thick  upon 
her  lashes,  but  she  did  not  attempt  to  wipe  them  away. 

"  Grandfer,"  she  said  very  gently,  "  you  must  n't  speak 
of  Jarge  to  me  like  that  —  ye  must  n't  —  ye  must  n't  — 
because  I  —  love  him,  and  if  — -  he  ever  —  comes  back  — 
I  '11  marry  him   if  —  if  he  will  only   ax   me ;    and  if  he 

—  never  comes  back,  then  —  I  think  —  I  shall  —  die !  " 
The  Ancient  took  out  his  snuff-box,  knocked  it,  opened  it, 
glanced  inside,  and  —  shut  it  up  again. 

"  Did  'ee  tell  me  as  you  —  love  —  Black  Jarge,  Prue  ?  " 

"  Yes,  grandfer,  I  always  have  and  always  shall !  " 

"  Loves  Black  Jarge !  "  he  repeated ;  "  alius  'as  —  alius 
will!  Oh,  Lord!  what  'ave  I  done?"  Now,  very  slowly, 
a  tear  crept  down  his  wrinkled  cheek,  at  sight  of  which 
Prue  gave  a  little  cry,  and,  kneeling  beside  his  chair,  took 
him  in  her  arms.  "  Oh,  my  lass !  —  my  little  Prue  —  't  is 
all  my  doin'.  I  thought  —  Oh,  Prue,  't  were  me  as  parted 
you !     I  thought  —  "     The  quivering  voice  broke  off. 

"  'T  is  all  right,  grandfer,  never  think  of  it  —  see  — 
there,  I  be  smilin' !  "  and  she  kissed  him  many  times. 

"  A  danged  fule  I  be !  "  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  No,  no,  grandfer !  " 

*'  That 's  what  I  be,  Prue  —  a  danged  fule !  If  I  do  go 
afore  that  theer  old,  rusty  stapil,  't  will  serve  me  right  — 
a   danged   fule  I  be !      Alius   loved   'im  —  alius   will,   an' 


41  8  The  Broad  Highway 

wishful  to  wed  wi'  'im !     Why,  then,"  said  the  Ancient, 
swallowing  two  or  three  times,  "  so  'ee  shall,  my  sweet 

—  so  'ee  shall,  sure  as  sure,  so  come  an'  kiss  me,  an'  for- 
give the  old  man  as  loves  'ee  so." 

"  What  do  'ee  mean,  grandfer?  "  said  Prue  between  two 
kisses. 

"  A  fine,  strappin'  chap  be  Jarge ;  arter  all,  Peter,  you 
bean't  a  patch  on  Jarge  for  looks,  be  you.''  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Ancient !  " 

"  Wishful  to  wed  'im,  she  is,  an'  so  she  shall.  Lordy 
Lord!     Kiss  me  again,  Prue,  for  I  be  goin'  to  see  Squire 

—  ay,  I  be  goin'  to  up  an'  speak  wi'  Squire  for  Jarge  — 
an'  Peter  be  comin'  too." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Peter!  "  faltered  Prudence,  "  be  this  true?  " 
and  in  her  eyes  was  the  light  of  a  sudden  hope. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"  D'  you  think  Squire  '11  see  you  —  listen  to  you?  "  she 
cried  breathlessly. 

"  I  think  he  will,  Prudence,"  said  I. 

"  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Peter !  "  she  murmured.  "  God 
bless  you !  " 

But  now  came  the  sound  of  wheels  and  the  voice  of 
Simon,  calling,  wherefore  I  took  my  hat  and  followed  the 
Ancient  to  the  door,  but  there  Prudence  stopped  me. 

"  Last  time  you  met  wi'  Jarge  —  he  tried  to  kill  you. 
Oh,  I  know,  and  now  —  you  be  goin'  to  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  Prue !  "  said  I.  But,  as  I  spoke,  she  stooped 
and  would  have  kissed  my  hand,  but  I  raised  her  and  kissed 
her  upon  the  cheek,  instead.  "  For  good  luck,  Prue,"  said 
I,  and  so  turned  and  left  her. 

In  the  porch  sat  Job,  with  Old  Amos  and  the  rest,  still 
in  solemn  conclave  over  pipes  and  ale,  who  watched  with 
gloomy  brows  as  I  swung  myself  up  beside  the  Ancient  in 
the  cart. 

"A  fule's  journey!"  remarked  Old  Amos  sententiously, 
with  a  wave  of  his  pipe ;  "  a  fule's  joumej' !  " 

The  Ancient  cast  an  observing  eye  up  at  the  cloudless 
sky,  and  also  nodded  solemnly. 


The  Ancient  is  Surprised      419 

"  Theer  be  some  fules  in  this  world,  Peter,  as  mixes  up 
rabbits  wi'  pa'tridges,  and  honest  men  —  hke  Jarge  —  wi 
thieves,  an'  lazy  waggabones  —  like  Job  —  but  we  '11  show 
'era,  Peter,  we  '11  show  'em  —  dang  'em !  Drive  on,  Simon, 
my  bye !  " 

So,  with  this  Parthian  shot,  feathered  with  the  one 
strong  word  the  Ancient  kept  for  such  occasions,  we  drove 
away  from  the  silenced  group,  who  stared  mutely  after 
us  until  we  were  lost  to  view.  But  the  last  thing  I  saw 
was  the  light  in  Prue's  sweet  eyes  as  she  watched  us  from 
the  open  lattice. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

HOW    WE    SET    OUT    FOR    BURNHAM    HALL 

**  Peter,"  said  the  Ancient,  after  we  had  gone  a  httle 
way,  "  Peter,  I  do  'opes  as  you  are  n't  been  an'  gone  an' 
rose  my  Prue's  'opes  only  to  dash  'em  down  again." 

"  I  can  but  do  my  best.  Ancient." 

"  Old  Un,"  said  Simon,  "  't  were  n't  Peter  as  rose  'er 
'opes,  't  were  you ;  Peter  never  said  nowt  about  bringin' 
Jarge  'ome  —  " 

"  Simon,"  commanded  the  Ancient,  "  hold  thy  tongue, 
lad ;  I  says  again,  if  Peter  's  been  an'  rose  Prue's  'opes 
only  to  dash  'em  't  will  be  a  bad  day  for  Prue,  you  mark 
my  words ;  Prue  's  a  lass  as  don't  love  easy,  an'  don't 
forget  easy." 

"  Why,  true,  Gaffer,  true,  God  bless  'er !  " 

"  She  be  one  as  'ud  pine  —  slow  an'  quiet,  like  a  flower 
in  the  woods,  or  a  leaf  in  autumn  —  ah !  fade,  she  would, 
fajde  an'  fade !  " 

*'  Well,  she  bean't  a-goin'  to  do  no  fadin',  please  the 
Lord!" 

**  Not  if  me  an'  Peter  an'  you  can  'elp  it,  Simon,  my  bye 
—  but  we  'm  but  poor  worms,  arter  all,  as  the  Bible  says ; 
an'  if  Peter  'as  been  an'  rose  'er  'opes  o'  freein'  Jarge,  an' 
don't  free  Jarge  —  if  Jarge  should  'ave  to  go  a  convic' 
to  Austrayley,  or  —  or  t'  other  place,  why  then  —  she  '11 
fade,  fade  as  ever  was,  an'  be  laid  in  the  churchyard  afore 
'er  poor  old  grandfeyther !  " 

"  Lord,  Old  Un !  "  exclaimed  Simon,  "  who  's  a-talkin' 
o'  fadin's  an'  churchyards?  I  don't  like  it  —  let's  talk 
o'  summ'at  else." 


We  Set  out  for  Burnham  Hall     421 

"  Simon,"  said  the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head  reprov- 
ingly, "  ye  be  a  good  bye  —  ah !  a  steady,  dootif ul  lad  ye 
be,  I  don't  deny  it ;  but  the  Lord  are  n't  give  you  no 
imagination,  which,  arter  all,  you  should  be  main  thankful 
for ;  a  imagination  's  a  troublesome  thing  —  are  n't  it, 
Peter?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  I,  "  a  damnable  thing !  " 

"  Ay  —  many  's  the  man  as  'as  been  ruinated  by  'is 
imagination  —  theer  was  one,  Nicodemus  Blyte  were  'is 
name  —  " 

"  And  a  very  miserable  cove  'e  sounds,  too !  "  added 
Simon. 

"  But  a  very  decent,  civil-spoke,  quiet  young  chap  'e 
were !  "  continued  the  Ancient,  "  only  for  'is  imagination ; 
Lord !  'e  were  that  full  o'  imagination  'e  could  n't  drink 
'is  ale  like  an  ordinary  chap  —  sip,  'e  'd  go,  an'  sip,  sip, 
till  't  were  all  gone,  an'  then  'e  'd  forget  as  ever  'e  'd  'ad 
any,  an'  go  away  wi'out  paying  for  it  —  if  some  'un 
did  n't  remind  'im  —  " 

"  'E  were  no  fule.  Old  Un !  "  nodded  Simon. 

*'  An'  that  were  n't  all,  neither,  not  by  no  manner  o' 
means,"  the  Ancient  continued.  "  I  've  knowed  that  theer 
chap  sit  an'  listen  to  a  pretty  lass  by  the  hour  together 
an'  never  say  a  word  —  not  one !  " 

"  Did  n't  git  a  chance  to,  p'r'aps  ?  "  said  Simon. 

"  It  were  n't  that,  no,  it  were  jest  'is  imagination 
a-workin'  an'  workin'  inside  of  'im,  an'  fillin'  'im  up. 
'Ows'ever,  at  last,  one  day,  'e  up  an'  axed  'er  to  marry 
'im,  an'  she,  bein'  all  took  by  surprise,  said  '  yes,'  an'  went 
an'  married  some  'un  else." 

"  Lord !  "  said  Simon,  "  what  did  she  go  and  marry 
another  chap  for.?  " 

"  Simon,"  returned  the  Ancient,  "  don't  go  askin'  fulish 
questions.  'Ows'ever,  she  did,  an'  poor  Nicodemus  growed 
more  imaginative  than  ever;  arter  that,  'e  took  to 
turnips." 

"Turnips?"  exclaimed  Simon,  staring. 

"  Turnips  as  ever  was !  "  nodded  the  Ancient,  "  used 


42  2  The  Broad  Highway 

to  stand,  for  hours  at  a  time,  a-lookin'  at  'is  turnips  an' 
shakin'  'is  'ead  over  'em." 

"  But  —  what  for?  —  a  man  must  be  a  danged  fule  to 
go  shakin'  of  'is  'ead  over  a  lot  o'  turnips !  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  rejoined  the  Ancient;  "  'is  tur- 
nips was  very  good  uns,  as  a  rule,  an'  fetched  top  prices 
in  the  markets." 

At  this  juncture  there  appeared  a  man  in  a  cart,  ahead 
of  us,  who  flourished  his  whip  and  roared  a  greeting,  a 
coarse-visaged,  loud-voiced  fellow,  whose  beefy  face  was 
adorned  with  a  pair  of  enormous  fiery  whiskers  that 
seemed  forever  striving  to  hide  his  ears,  which  last,  being 
very  large  and  red,  stood  boldly  out  at  right  angles  to  his 
head,  refusing  to  be  thus  ambushed,  and  scorning  all 
concealment. 

"  W'at  —  be  that  the  Old  Un  —  be  you  alive  an'  kickin' 
yet.?  " 

"  Ay,  God  be  thanked,  John !  " 

"  And  w'at  be  all  this  I  'ear  about  that  theer  Black 
Jarge  —  'e  never  were  much  good  —  but  w'at  be  all 
this.?" 

"  Lies,  mostly,  you  may  tak*  your  oath !  "  nodded  the 
Ancient. 

"  But  'e  've  been  took  for  poachin',  ah !  an'  locked  up 
at  the  'All  —  " 

"  An'  we  'm  goin'  to  fetch  un  —  we  be  goin'  to  see 
Squire  —  " 

"W'at  —  you,  Old  Un.?  You  see  Squire  —  haw! 
haw !  " 

"  Ah,  me !  —  an'  Peter,  an'  Simon,  'ere  —  why  not.?  " 

"  Yo2i  see  'is  Worship  Sir  Peregrine  Beverley,  Baronet, 
an'  Justice  o'  the  Peace  —  ^ou?     Ecod !    that 's  a  good 
un  —  danged  if  it  ain't !     An'  what  might  you  be  wishful 
to  do  when  ye  see  'im  —  which  ye  won't?  " 
"  Fetch  back  Jarge,  o'  course." 

"  Old  Un,  you  must  be  crazed  in  your  'ead,  arter  Jarge 
Jcillin'  four  keepers  —  Sir  Peregrine's  own  keepers  too  — 
shootin'  'em  stone  dead,  an'  three  more  a-dyin'  —  " 


We  Set  out  for  Burnham  Hall      423 

"  John,"  said  the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head,  "  that 's 
the  worst  o'  bein'  cursed  wi'  ears  like  yourn  —  " 

"  My  ears  is  all  right !  "  returned  John,  frowning. 

"  Oh,  ah !  "  chuckled  the  old  man,  "  your  ears  is  all 
right,  John  —  prize  ears,  ye  might  call  'em ;  I  never  seed 
a  pair  better  grow'd  —  never,  no !  " 

"  A  bit  large,  they  may  be,"  growled  John,  giving  a 
furtive  pull  to  the  nearest  ambush,  "  but  —  " 

"  Large  as  ever  was,  John !  "  nodded  the  Ancient  — 
"  oncommon  large !  an',  consequent,  they  ketches  a  lot 
too  much.  I  've  kep'  my  eye  on  them  ears  o'  yourn  for 
thirty  year  an'  more,  John  —  if  so  be  as  they  grows 
any  bigger,  you  '11  be  'earin'  things  afore  they  're  spoke, 
an'  —  " 

John  gave  a  fierce  tug  to  the  ambush,  muttered  an 
oath,  and,  lashing  up  his  horse,  disappeared  down  the 
road  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"  'T  were  nigh  on  four  year  ago  since  Black  Jarge 
thrashed  John,  were  n't  it,  Simon.''  " 

*'  Ah !  "  nodded  Simon,  "  John  were  in  '  The  Ring  '  then, 
Peter,  an'  a  pretty  tough  chap  'e  were,  too,  though  a  bit 
too  fond  o'  swingin'  wi'  'is  '  right '  to  please  me." 

"  'E  were  very  sweet  on  Prue  then,  were  n't  'e, 
Simon.?" 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  Simon  again ;  "  'e  were  alius  'anging 
round  '  The  Bull '  —  till  I  warned  'im  off  —  " 

"  An'  —  'e  laughed  at  'ee,  Simon." 

"  Ah !  'e  did  that ;  an'  I  were  going  to  'ave  a  go  at  'im 
myself ;  an'  the  chances  are  'e  'd  'ave  beat  me,  seein'  I 
'ad  n't  been  inside  of  a  ring  for  ten  year,  when  —  " 

"  Up  comes  Jarge,"  chuckled  the  Ancient.  '  What  's 
all  this?'  say  Jarge.  'I  be  goin'  to  teach  John  'ere  to 
keep  away  from  my  Prue,'  says  Simon.  '  No,  no,'  says 
Jarge,  '  John  's  young,  an'  you  bean't  the  man  you  was 
ten  years  ago  —  let  me,'  says  Jarge.  '  You  ?  '  says  John, 
*  you  get  back  to  your  bellers  —  you  be  purty  big,  but 
I  've  beat  the  'eads  oif  better  men  nor  you!  '  '  Why,  then, 
'ave  a  try  at  mine,'  says  Jarge;    an'  wi'  the  word,  bang! 


424  The  Broad  Highway 

comes  John's  fist  again'  'is  jaw,  an'  they  was  at  it.  Oh, 
Peter !  that  were  a  fight !  I  've  seed  a  few  in  my  time,  but 
nothin'  hke  that  'ere." 

"  And  when  't  were  all  over,"  added  Simon,  "  Jarge  went 
back  to  'is  'ammer  an'  bellers,  an'  we  picked  John  up,  and 
I  druv  'im  'ome  in  this  'ere  very  cart,  an'  nobody  's  cared 
to  stand  up  to  Jarge  since." 

"  You  have  both  seen  Black  George  fight,  then  ? "  I 
inquired. 

"  Many  's  the  time,  Peter." 

"  And  have  you  ever  —  seen  him  knocked  down  ?  " 

*'  No,"  returned  the  Ancient,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  've 
seed  'im  all  blood  from  'ead  to  foot,  an'  once  a  gert,  big 
sailor-man  knocked  'im  sideways,  arter  which  Jarge  got 
fu'rus-like,  an'  put  'im  to  sleep  —  " 

"  No,  Peter !  "  added  Simon,  "  I  don't  think  as  there 
be  a  man  in  all  England  as  could  knock  Black  Jarge  off 
'is  pins  in  a  fair,  stand-up  fight." 

"  Hum !  "  said  I. 

"  Ye  see  —  'e  be  that  'ard,  Peter !  "  nodded  the  Ancient. 
"  Why,  look !  "  he  cried  —  look  'ee  theer !  " 

Now,  looking  where  he  pointed,  I  saw  a  man  dart  across 
the  road  some  distance  away ;  he  was  hidden  almost  im- 
mediately, for  there  were  many  trees  thereabouts,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  that  length  of  limb  and  breadth 
of  shoulder. 

"  'T  were  Black  Jarge  'isself !  "  exclaimed  Simon,  whip- 
ping up  his  horses ;  but  when  we  reached  the  place  George 
was  gone,  and  though  we  called  and  sought  for  some  time, 
we  saw  him  no  more. 

So,  in  a  while,  we  turned  and  jogged  back  towards 
Sissinghurst. 

"  What  be  you  a-shakin'  your  'ead  over.  Old  Un .''  " 
inquired  Simon,  after  we  had  ridden  some  distance. 

"  I  were  wonderin'  what  that  old  fule  Amos  '11  say  when 
we  drive  back  wi'out  Jarge." 

Being  come  to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  I  descended 
from  the  cart,  for  my  head  was  strangely  heavy,  and  I 


We  Set  out  for  Burnham  Hall     425 

felt  much  out  of  sorts,  and,  though  the  day  was  still 
young  I  had  no  mind  for  work.  Therefore  I  bade 
adieu  to  Simon  and  the  Ancient,  and  turned  aside 
towards  the  Hollow,  leaving  them  staring  after  me  in 
wonderment. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

IN    WHICH    I    FALL    FROM    FOLLY    INTO    MADNESS 

It  was  with  some  little  trepidation  that  I  descended  into 
the  Hollow,  and  walked  along  beside  the  brook,  for  soon 
I  should  meet  Charmian,  and  the  memory  of  our  parting, 
and  the  thought  of  this  meeting,  had  been  in  my  mind  all 
day  long. 

She  would  not  be  expecting  me  3'et,  for  I  was  much 
before  my  usual  time,  wherefore  I  walked  on  slowly  beside 
the  brook,  deliberating  on  what  I  should  say  to  her,  until 
I  came  to  that  large  stone  where  I  had  sat  dreaming  the 
night  when  she  had  stood  in  the  moonlight,  and  first 
bidden  me  in  to  supper.  And  now,  sinking  upon  this  stone, 
I  set  my  elbows  upon  my  knees,  and  my  chin  in  my  hands, 
and,  fixing  my  eyes  upon  the  ever-moving  waters  of  the 
brook,  fell  into  a  profound  meditation. 

From  this  I  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the  clink  of  iron 
and  the  snort  of  a  horse. 

Wondering,  I  lifted  my  eyes,  but  the  bushes  were  very 
dense,  and  I  could  see  nothing.  But,  in  a  little,  borne 
upon  the  gentle  wind,  came  the  sound  of  a  voice,  low  and 
soft  and  very  sweet  —  whose  rich  tones  there  was  no 
mistaking  —  followed,  almost  immediately,  by  another  — 
deeper,  gruffer  —  the  voice  of  a  man. 

With  a  bound,  I  was  upon  my  feet,  and  had,  somehow, 
crossed  the  brook,  but,  even  so,  I  was  too  late;  there  was 
the  crack  of  a  whip,  followed  by  the  muffled  thud  of  a 
horse's  hoofs,  which  died  quickly  away,  and  was  lost  in 
the  stir  of  leaves. 

I  ground  my  teeth,  and  cursed  that  fate  which  seemed 


I  Fall  from  Folly  into  Madness      427 

determined  that  I  should  not  meet  this  man  face  to  face 

—  this  man  whose  back  I  had  seen  but  once  —  a  broad- 
shouldered  back  clad  in  a  blue  coat. 

I  stood  where  I  was,  dumb  and  rigid,  staring  straight 
before  me,  and  once  again  a  tremor  passed  over  me,  that 
came  and  went,  growing  stronger  and  stronger,  and,  once 
again,  in  my  head  was  the  thud,  thud,  thud  of  the  hammer. 

" '  In  Scarlet  town,  where  I  was  born. 
There  was  a  fair  maid  dwellin'. 
Made  every  youth  cry  Well-a-way  I 
Her  name  was  Barbara  Allen.'  " 

She  was  approaching  by  that  leafy  path  that  wound  its 
way  along  beside  the  brook,  and  there  came  upon  me  a 
physical  nausea,  and  ever  the  thud  of  the  hammer  grew 
more  maddening. 

"  '  All  in  the  merry  month  of  May, 
When  green  buds  they  were  swellin'. 
Young  Jemmy  Grove  on  his  death-bed  lay. 
For  love  of  Barbara  Allen.'  " 

Now,  as  she  ended  the  verse,  she  came  out  into  the 
open,  and  saw  me,  and,  seeing  me,  looked  deliberately  over 
ray  head,  and  went  on  singing,  while  I  —  stood  shivering : 

" '  So,  slowly,  slowly  rase  she  up 
And  slowly  she  came  nigh  him, 
And  when  she  drew  the  curtain  by  — 
"  Young  man,  I  think  you  're  dyin'! 

And  suddenly  the  trees  and  bushes  swung  giddily  round 

—  the  grass  swayed  beneath  my  feet  —  and  Chamiian 
was  beside  me  with  her  arm  about  my  shoulders ;  but  I 
pushed  her  from  me,  and  leaned  against  a  tree  near  by, 
and  hearkened  to  the  hammer  in  my  brain. 

"Why  — Peter!"  said  she.     "Oh  — Peter!" 
"  Please,  Charmian,"  said  I,  speaking  between  the  ham- 
mer-strokes,   "  do    not  —  touch    me    again  —  it    is  —  too 
soon  after  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean  —  Peter.''     What  do  you  mean?" 


428  The  Broad  Highway 

"  He  has  —  been  with  you  —  again  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  she  cried. 

**  I  know  of  —  his  visits  —  if  he  was  —  the  same  as  — 
last  time  —  in  a  —  blue  coat  —  no,  don't,  don't  touch  me." 

But  she  had  sprung  upon  me,  and  caught  me  by  the 
arms,  and  shook  me  in  a  grip  so  strong  that,  giddy  as  I 
was,  I  reeled  and  staggered  like  a  drunken  man.  And 
still  her  voice  hissed:  "What  do  you  mean?"  And  her 
voice  and  hands  and  eyes  were  strangely  compelling. 

"  I  mean,"  I  answered,  in  a  low,  even  voice,  like  one  in 
a  trance,  "  that  you  are  a  Messalina,  a  Julia,  a  Joan  of 
Naples,  beautiful  as  they  —  and  as  wanton." 

Now  at  the  word  she  cried  out,  and  struck  me  twice  across 
the  face,  blows  that  burnt  and  stung. 

"Beast!"  she  cried.  "Liar!  Oh,  that  I  had  the 
strength  to  grind  you  into  the  earth  beneath  my  foot.  Oh ! 
you  poor,  blind,  self-deluding  fool !  "  and  she  laughed,  and 
her  laughter  stung  me  most  of  all.  "  As  I  look  at  you," 
she  went  on,  the  laugh  still  curling  her  lip,  "  you  stand 
there  —  what  you  are  —  a  beaten  hound.  This  is  my  last 
look,  and  I  shall  always  remember  you  as  I  see  you  now  — 
scarlet-cheeked,  shamefaced  —  a  beaten  hound !  "  And, 
speaking,  she  shook  her  hand  at  me,  and  turned  upon  her 
heel;  but  with  that  word,  and  in  that  instant,  the  old, 
old  demon  leapt  up  within  me,  and,  as  he  leapt,  I  clasped 
my  arms  about  her,  and  caught  her  up,  and  crushed  her 
close  and  high  against  my  breast. 

"  Go?  "  said  I.     "  Go  —  no  —  no,  not  yet !  " 

And  now,  as  her  eyes  met  mine,  I  felt  her  tremble,  yet 
she  strove  to  hide  her  fear,  and  heaped  me  with  bitter 
scorn;  but  I  only  shook  my  head  and  smiled.  And  now 
she  struggled  to  break  my  clasp,  fiercely,  desperately ;  her 
long  hair  burst  its  fastenings,  and  enveloped  us  both  in  its 
rippling  splendor;  she  beat  my  face,  she  wound  her 
fingers  in  my  hair,  but  my  lips  smiled  on,  for  the  hammer 
in  my  brain  had  deadened  all  else. 

And  presently  she  lay  still.  1  felt  her  body  relax  and 
grow  suddenly  pliable  and  soft,  her  head  fell  back  across 


I  Fall  from  Folly  into  Madness     429 

my  arm,  and,  as  she  lay,  I  saw  the  tears  of  her  helplessness 
ooze  out  beneath  her  drooping  lashes ;   but  still  I  smiled. 

So,  with  her  long  hair  trailing  over  me,  I  bore  her  to 
the  cottage.  Closing  the  door  behind  me  with  my  foot,  I 
crossed  the  room,  and  set  her  down  upon  the  bed. 

She  lay  very  still,  but  her  bosom  heaved  tumultuously, 
and  the  tears  still  crept  from  beneath  her  lashes ;  but  in 
a  while  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me,  and  shivered, 
and  crouched  farther  from  me,  among  the  pillows. 

**  Why  did  you  lie  to  me,  Charmian ;  why  did  you  lie 
to  me  ?  "  She  did  not  answer,  only  she  watched  me  as  one 
might  watch  some  relentless,  oncoming  peril. 

"  I  asked  you  once  if  you  ever  saw  men  hereabouts  — 
when  I  was  away,  do  you  remember.''  You  told  me,  *  no,* 
and,  while  you  spoke,  I  knew  you  lied,  for  I  had  seen  him 
standing  among  the  leaves,  waiting  and  watching  for  you. 
I  once  asked  you  if  you  were  ever  lonely  when  I  was  away, 
and  you  answered  *  no,'  —  you  were  too  busy  —  *  seldom 
went  beyond  the  Hollow  '  —  do  you  remember  ?  And  yet 
—  you  had  brought  him  here  —  here,  into  the  cottage  — 
he  had  looked  at  my  Virgil  —  over  your  shoulder  —  do 
you  remember?  " 

"  You  played  the  spy !  "  she  whispered  with  trembling 
lips,  yet  with  eyes  still  fierce  and  scornful. 

"  You  know  I  did  not ;  had  I  seen  him  I  should  have 
killed  him,  because  —  I  loved  you.  I  had  set  up  an  altar 
to  you  in  my  heart,  where  my  soul  might  worship  —  poor 
fool  that  I  was !  I  loved  you  with  every  breath  I  drew. 
I  think  I  must  have  shown  you  something  of  this,  from 
time  to  time,  for  you  are  very  clever,  and  you  may  have 
laughed  over  it  together  —  you  and  he.  And  lately  I  have 
seen  my  altar  foully  desecrated,  shattered,  and  utterly 
destroyed,  and,  with  it,  your  sweet  womanhood  dragged  in 
the  mire,  and  yet  —  I  loved  you  still.  Can  you  imagine, 
I  wonder,  the  agony  of  it,  the  haunting  horrors  of  imagi- 
nation, the  bitter  days,  the  sleepless  nights?  To  see  you 
so  beautiful,  so  glorious,  and  know  you  so  base!  Indeed, 
I  think  it  came  near  driving  me  mad.     It  has  sent  me  out 


43 o  The  Broad  Highway 

into  the  night ;  I  have  held  out  my  arms  for  the  lightning 
to  blast  me;  I  have  wished  myself  a  thousand  deaths.  If 
Black  George  had  but  struck  a  little  harder  —  or  a  little 
lighter;  I  am  not  the  man  I  was  before  he  thrashed  me; 
my  head  grows  confused  and  clouded  at  times  —  would  to 
God  I  were  dead !  But  now  —  you  would  go !  Having 
killed  my  heart,  broken  my  life,  driven  away  all  peace  of 
mind  —  you  would  leave  me !  No,  Charmian,  I  swear  by 
God  you  shall  not  go  —  yet  awhile.  I  have  bought  you 
very  dear  —  bought  you  with  my  bitter  agony,  and  by  all 
the  blasting  torments  I  have  suffered." 

Now,  as  I  ended,  she  sprang  from  the  bed  and  faced  me, 
but,  meeting  my  look,  she  shrank  a  little,  and  drew  her 
long  hair  about  her  like  a  mantle,  then  sought  with  trem- 
bling hands  to  hold  me  off. 

"  Peter  —  be  sane.  Oh,  Peter !  be  merciful  and  let  me 
go  —  give  me  time  —  let  me  explain." 

"  My  books,"  said  I,  "  have  taught  me  that  the  more 
beautiful  a  woman's  face  the  more  guileful  is  her  heart; 
and  your  face  is  wonderfully  beautiful,  and,  as  for  your 
heart  —  you  lied  to  me  before." 

"I  —  oh,  Peter !  —  I  am  not  the  poor  creature  you 
think  me." 

"  Were  you  the  proudest  lady  in  the  land  —  you  have 
deceived  me  and  mocked  me  and  lied  to  me !  "  So  saying, 
I  reached  out,  and  seized  her  by  each  rounded  arm,  and 
slowly  drew  her  closer.  And  now  she  strove  no  more 
against  me,  only  in  her  face  was  bitter  scorn,  and  an  anger 
that  cast  out  fear. 

"  I  hate  you  —  despise  you  !  "  she  whispered.  "  I  hate 
you  more  than  any  man  was  ever  hated !  " 

Inch  by  inch  I  drew  her  to  me,  until  she  stood  close, 
within  the  circle  of  my  arms. 

'*  And  I  think  I  love  you  more  than  any  woman  was 
ever  loved !  "  said  I ;  "  for  the  glorious  beauty  of  your 
strong,  sweet  body,  for  the  temptation  of  your  eyes,  for 
the  red  lure  of  your  lips !  "  And  so  I  stooped  and  kissed 
her  full  upon  the  mouth.     She  lay  soft  and  warm  in  ray 


I  Fall  from  Folly  into  Madness      43  1 

embrace,  all  unresisting,  only  she  shivered  beneath  my 
kiss,  and  a  great  sob  rent  her  bosom. 

"  And  I  also  think,"  said  I,  "  that,  because  of  the  perfidy 
of  your  heart,  I  hate  you  as  much  as  you  do  me  —  as 
much  as  ever  woman,  dead  or  living,  was  hated  by  man  — 
and  shall  —  forever !  " 

And,  while  I  spoke,  I  loosed  her  and  turned,  and  strode 
swiftly  out  and  away  from  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

IN    WHICH    I    FIND    PEACE    AND    JOY    AND    AN 
ABIDING    SORBOW 

I  HUREiED  on,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  seeing 
only  the  face  of  Charmian,  now  fearful  and  appealing,  now 
blazing  with  scorn.  And  coming  to  the  brook,  I  sat  down, 
and  thought  upon  her  marvellous  beauty,  of  the  firm  round- 
ness of  the  arms  that  my  fingers  had  so  lately  pressed. 
Anon  I  started  up  again,  and  plunged,  knee-deep,  through 
the  brook,  and  strode  on  and  on,  bursting  my  way  through 
bramble  and  briar,  heedless  of  their  petty  stings,  till  at  last 
I  was  clear  of  them,  being  now  among  trees.  And  here, 
where  the  shadow  was  deepest,  I  came  upon  a  lurking  figure 
—  a  figure  I  recognized  —  a  figure  there  was  no  mistaking, 
and  which  I  should  have  known  in  a  thousand. 

A  shortish,  broad-shouldered  man,  clad  in  a  blue  coat, 
who  stood  with  his  back  towards  me,  looking  down  into  the 
Hollow,  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  waits  —  for  what.''  for 
whom  .'* 

He  was  cut  off  from  me  by  a  solitary  bush,  a  bramble, 
that  seemed  to  have  strayed  from  its  kind  and  lost  itself, 
and,  running  upon  my  toes,  I  cleared  this  bush  at  a 
bound,  and,  before  the  fellow  had  realized  my  presence,  I 
had  pinned  him  by  the  collar. 

"  Damn  you !  —  show  your  face !  "  I  cried,  and  swung 
him  round  so  fiercely  that  he  staggered,  and  his  hat  fell  off. 

Then,  as  I  saw,  I  clasped  my  head  between  my  hands, 
and  fell  back  —  staring, 

A  grizzled  man  with  an  honest,  open  face,  a  middle-aged 


J 


I  Find  Peace  and  Joy         433 

man  whose  homely  features  were  lighted  by  a  pair  of  kindly 
blue  eyes,  just  now  round  with  astonishment. 

"  Lord !  —  Mr.  Peter !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Adfam !  "  I  groaned.  "  Oh,  God  forgive  me,  it  *s 
Adam !  " 

"  Lord !  Mr.  Peter,"  said  he  again,  "  you  sure  give  me 
a  turn,  sir !  But  what 's  the  matter  wi'  you,  sir  ?  Come, 
Mr.  Peter,  never  stare  so  wild  like  —  come,  sir,  wlyit  is 
it?" 

"  Tell  re  —  quick !  "  said  I,  catching  his  hand  in  mine, 
"  you  have  been  here  many  times  before  of  late.''  " 

"  Why  —  yes,  Mr.  Peter,  but  —  " 

"  Quick !  "  said  I ;  "on  one  occasion  she  took  you  into 
the  cottage  yonder  and  showed  you  a  book  —  you  looked 
at  it  over  her  shoulder?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  —  but  —  " 

"  What  sort  of  book  was  it?  " 

"  A  old  book,  sir,  wi'  the  cover  broke,  and  wi'  your  name 
writ  down  inside  of  it ;  't  was  that  way  as  she  found  out 
who  you  was  —  " 

"  Oh,  Adam !  "  I  cried.  "  Oh,  Adam !  now  may  God  help 
me !  "  And,  dropping  his  hand,  I  turned  and  ran  until  I 
reached  the  cottage ;  but  it  was  empty,  Charmian  was  gone. 

In  a  fever  of  haste  I  sought  her  along  the  brook,  among 
the  bushes  and  trees,  even  along  the  road.  And,  as  I 
sought,  night  fell,  and  in  the  shadows  was  black  despair. 

I  searched  the  Hollow  from  end  to  end,  calling  upon  her 
name,  but  no  sound  reached  me,  save  the  hoot  of  an  owl, 
and  the  far-off,  dismal  cry  of  a  corncrake. 

With  some  faint  hope  that  she  might  have  returned  to 
the  cottage,  I  hastened  thither,  but,  finding  it  dark  and 
desolate,  I  gave  way  to  my  despair. 

O  blind,  self-deceiving  fool !  She  had  said  that,  and  she 
was  right  —  as  usual.  She  had  called  me  an  egoist  —  I 
was  an  egoist,  a  pedant,  a  blind,  self-deceiving  fool  who 
had  wilfully  destroyed  all  hopes  of  a  happiness  the  very 
thought  of  which  had  so  often  set  me  trembling  —  and  now 
—  she  had  left  me  —  was  gone !     The  world  —  my  world. 


434  The  Broad  Highway 

was  a  void  —  its  emptiness  terrified  me.  How  should  I 
live  without  Charmian,  the  woman  whose  image  was  ever 
before  my  eyes,  whose  soft,  low  voice  was  ever  in  my  ears? 

And  I  had  thought  so  much  to  please  her!  I  who  had 
set  my  thoughts  to  guard  my  tor  ;ue,  lest  by  word  or  look 
I  might  offend  her !    And  this  was  the  end  of  it ! 

Sitting  down  at  the  table,  I  leaned  my  head  there,  press- 
ing my  forehead  against  the  hard  wood,  and  remained  thus 
a  great  while. 

At  last,  because  it  was  very  dark,  I  found  and  lighted  a 
candle,  and  came  and  stood  beside  her  bed.  Very  white 
and  trim  it  looked,  yet  I  was  glad  to  see  its  smoothness 
rumpled  where  I  had  laid  her  down,  and  to  see  the  depres- 
sion in  the  pillow  that  her  head  had  made.  And,  while 
I  stood  there,  up  to  me  stole  a  perfume  very  faint,  like 
the  breath  of  violets  in  a  wood  at  evening  time,  wherefore 
I  sank  down  upon  my  knees  beside  the  bed. 

And  now  the  full  knowledge  of  my  madness  rushed  upon 
me  in  an  overwhelming  flood ;  but  with  misery  was  a  great 
and  mighty  joy,  for  now  I  knew  her  worthy  of  all  respect 
and  honor  and  worship,  for  her  intellect,  for  her  proud 
virtue,  and  for  her  spotless  purity.  And  thus,  with  joy 
came  remorse,  and  with  remorse  —  an  abiding  sorrow. 

And  gradually  my  arms  crept  about  the  pillow  where 
her  head  had  so  often  rested,  wherefore  I  kissed  it,  and 
laid  my  head  upon  it  and  sighed,  and  so  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

HOW    BLACK    GEORGE    FOUND    PRUDENCE    IN    THE    DAWN 

The  chill  of  dawn  was  in  the  air  when  I  awoke,  and  it  was 
some  few  moments  before,  with  a  rush,  I  remembered  why 
I  was  kneeling  there  beside  Charmian's  bed.  Shivering, 
I  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  to  reduce  the  stiffness  in 
my  limbs. 

The  fire  was  out  and  I  had  no  mind  to  light  it,  for  I  was 
in  no  mood  to  break  my  fast,  though  the  necessary  things 
stood  ready,  as  her  orderly  hands  had  set  them,  and  the 
plates  and  cups  and  saucers  twinkled  at  me  from  the  little 
cupboard  I  had  made  to  hold  them ;  a  cupboard  whose  con- 
struction she  had  overlooked  with  a  critical  eye.  And  I 
must  needs  remember  how  she  had  insisted  on  being  per- 
mitted to  drive  in  three  nails  with  her  own  hand  —  I  could 
put  my  finger  on  those  very  nails ;  how  she  had  tapped  at 
those  nails  for  fear  of  missing  them ;  how  beautiful  she  had 
looked  in  her  coarse  apron,  and  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up 
over  her  roimd  white  arms  —  how  womanly  and  sweet ;  yet 
I  had  dared  to  think  —  had  dared  to  call  her  —  a  Messa- 
lina !  Oh,  that  my  tongue  had  withered  or  ever  I  had  coupled 
one  so  pure  and  noble  with  a  creature  so  base  and  common ! 

So  thinking,  I  sighed  and  went  out  into  the  dawn ;  as 
I  closed  the  door  behind  me  its  hollow  slam  struck  me 
sharply,  and  I  called  to  mind  how  she  had  called  it  a  bad 
and  ill-fitting  door.     And  indeed  so  it  was. 

With  dejected  step  and  hanging  head  I  made  my  way 
towards  Sissinghurst  (for,  since  I  was  up,  I  might  as  well 
work,  and  there  was  much  to  be  done),  and,  as  I  went,  I 
heard  a  distant  clock  chime  four. 


43 6  The  Broad  Highway 

Now,  when  I  reached  the  village  the  sun  was  beginning 
to  rise,  and  thus,  lifting  up  my  eyes,  I  beheld  one  standing 
before  "  The  Bull,"  a  very  tall  man,  much  bigger  and 
greater  than  most;  a  wild  figure  in  the  dawn,  with  matted 
hair  and  beard,  and  clad  in  tattered  clothes ;  yet  hair  and 
beard  gleamed  a  red  gold  where  the  light  touched  them, 
and  there  was  but  one  man  I  knew  so  tall  and  so  mighty 
as  this.  Wherefore  I  hurried  towards  him,  all  unnoticed, 
for  his  eyes  were  raised  to  a  certain  latticed  casement  of 
the  inn. 

And,  being  come  up,  I  reached  out  and  touched  this  man 
upon  the  arm. 

"  George !  "  said  I,  and  held  out  my  hand.  He  turned 
swiftly,  but,  seeing  me,  started  back  a  pace,  staring. 

"  George !  "  said  I  again.  "  Oh,  George !  "  But  George 
only  backed  still  farther,  passing  his  hand  once  or  twice 
across  his  eyes. 

"  Peter,? "  said  he  at  last,  speaking  hardly  above  a 
whisper ;   "  but  you  'm  dead,  Peter,  dead  —  I  killed  'ee." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  you  did  n't  kill  me,  George  — 
indeed,  I  wish  you  had  —  you  came  pretty  near  it,  but  you 
did  n't  quite  manage  it.  And,  George  —  I  'm  very  deso- 
late —  won't  you  shake  hands  with  a  very  desolate  man .'' 
—  if  you  can,  believing  that  I  have  always  been  your 
friend,  and  a  true  and  loyal  one,  then,  give  me  your  hand ; 
if  not  —  if  you  think  me  still  the  despicable  traitor  you 
once  did,  then,  let  us  go  into  the  field  yonder,  and  if  you 
can  manage  to  knock  me  on  the  head  for  good  and  all  this 
time  —  why,  so  much  the  better.  Come,  what  do  you 
say.?" 

Without  a  word  Black  George  turned  and  led  the  way 
to  a  narrow  lane  a  little  distance  beyond  "  The  Bull,"  and 
from  the  lane  into  a  meadow.  Being  come  thither,  I  took 
off  my  coat  and  neckerchief,  but  this  time  I  cast  no  look 
upon  the  world  about  me,  though  indeed  it  was  fair  enough. 
But  Black  George  stood  half  turned  from  me,  with  his 
fists  clenched  and  his  broad  shoulders  heaving  oddly. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  in  his  slow,  heavy  way,  "  never  clench 


Black  George  Found  Prudence     437 

ye  fists  to  me  —  don't  —  I  can't  abide  it.  But  oh,  man, 
Peter !  'ow  may  I  clasp  'ands  wi'  a  chap  as  I  've  tried  to 
kill  —  I  can't  do  it,  Peter  —  but  don't  —  don't  clench  ye 
fists  again  me  no  more.    I  were  jealous  of  'ee  from  the  first 

—  ye  see,  you  beat  me  at  th'  'aramer-throwin*  —  an'  she 
took  your  part  again  me ;  an'  then,  you  be  so  takin'  in  your 
ways,  an'  I  be  so  big  an'  clumsy  —  so  very  slow  an'  'eavy. 
Theer  bean't  no  choice  betwixt  us  for  a  maid  like  Prue  — 
she  alius  was  different  from  the  likes  o'  me,  an'  any  lass  wi* 
half  an  eye  could  see  as  you  be  a  gentleman,  ah !  an'  a  good 
un.  An'  so  Peter,  an'  so  —  I  be  goin'  away  —  a  sojer  — 
p'r'aps  I  sha'n't  love  the  dear  lass  quite  so  much  arter  a 
bit  —  p'r'aps  it  won't  be  quite  so  sharp-like,  arter  a  bit,  but 
what 's  to  be  —  is  to  be.  I  've  larned  wisdom,  an'  you  an' 
she  was  made  for  each  other  an'  meant  for  each  other  from 
the  first ;  so  —  don't  go  to  clench  ye  fists  again  me  no  more, 
Peter." 

"  Never  again,  George !  "  said  I. 

"  Unless,"  he  continued,  as  though  struck  by  a  bright 
idea,  "  unless  you  'm  minded  to  'ave  a  whack  at  me ;  if  so  be 

—  why,  tak'  it,  Peter,  an'  welcome.  Ye  see,  I  tried  so  'ard 
to  kill  'ee  —  so  cruel  'ard,  Peter,  an'  I  thought  I  'ad.  I 
thought  't  were  for  that  as  they  took  me,  an'  so  I  broke  my 
way  out  o'  the  lock-up,  to  come  an'  say  '"  good-by  '  to 
Prue's  winder,  an'  then  I  were  goin'  back  to  give  myself 
up  an'  let  'em  hang  me  if  they  wanted  to." 

"  Were  you,  George.'^  " 

"  Yes."  Here  George  turned  to  look  at  me,  and,  look- 
ing, dropped  his  eyes  and  fumbled  with  his  hands,  while 
up  under  his  tanned  skin  there  crept  a  painful,  burning 
crimson.    "  Peter !  "  said  he. 

"Yes,  George?" 

"  I  got  summ'at  more  to  tell  'ee  —  summ'at  as  I  never 
meant  to  tell  to  a  soul ;  when  you  was  down  —  Ijin'  at  my 
feet  —  " 

"Yes,  George.?" 

"I  —  I  kicked  'ee  —  once !  " 

"  Did  you,  George  ?  " 


43 8  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Ay  —  I  —  I  were  mad  —  mad  wi'  rage  an'  blood  lust, 
an'  —  oh,  man,  Peter !  —  I  kicked  'ee.  Theer,"  said  he, 
straightening  his  shoulders,  "  leastways  I  can  look  'ee  in 
the  eye  now  that  be  off  my  mind.  An'  now,  if  so  be  you  'm 
wishful  to  tak'  ye  whack  at  me  —  why,  let  it  be  a  good  un, 
Peter." 

"  No,  I  shall  never  raise  my  hand  to  you  again,  George." 

"  'T  is  likely  you  be  thinkin'  me  a  poor  sort  o'  man, 
arter  what  —  what  I  just  told  'ee  —  a  coward.''  " 

"  I  think  you  more  of  a  man  than  ever,"  said  I. 

"  Why,  then,  Peter  —  if  ye  do  think  that,  here  's  my 
hand  —  if  ye  '11  tak'  it,  an'  I  —  bid  ye  —  good-by !  " 

"  I  '11  take  your  hand  —  and  gladly,  George,  but  not  to 
wish  you  good-by  —  it  shall  be,  rather,  to  bid  you  welcome 
home  again." 

"  No,"  he  cried.  "  No  —  I  could  n't  —  I  could  n't  abide 
to  see  you  an'  —  Prue  —  married,  Peter  —  no,  I  could  n't 
abide  it." 

"  And  you  never  will,  George.  Prue  loves  a  stronger, 
a  better  man  than  I.  And  she  has  wept  over  him,  George, 
and  prayed  over  him,  such  tears  and  prayers  as  surely 
might  win  the  blackest  soul  to  heaven,  and  has  said  that 
she  would  marry  that  man  —  ah  !  even  if  he  came  back  with 
fetter-marks  upon  him  —  even  then  she  would  marry  hiin 
—  if  he  would  only  ask  her." 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  cried  George,  seizing  my  shoulders  in  a 
mighty  grip  and  looking  into  my  eyes  with  tears  in  his  own, 
"  oh,  man,  Peter  —  you  as  knocked  me  down  an'  as  I  love 
for  it  —  be  this  true.''  " 

"  It  is  God's  truth !  "  said  I,  "  and  look !  —  there  is  a 
sign  to  prove  I  am  no  liar  —  look  !  "  and  I  pointed  towards 
"  The  Bull." 

George  turned,  and  I  felt  his  fingers  tighten  suddenly, 
for  there,  at  the  open  doorway  of  the  inn,  with  the  early 
glory  of  the  morning  all  about  her,  stood  Prue.  As  we 
watched,  she  began  to  cross  the  road  towards  the  smithy, 
with  laggard  step  and  drooping  head. 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  is  going,  George .''     I  can  tell 


Black  George  Found  Prudence      439 

you  —  she  is  going  to  your  smithy  —  to  pray  for  you  — 
do  you  hear,  to  pray  for  you  ?  Come !  "  and  I  seized  his 
arm. 

"  No,  Peter,  no  —  I  durst  n't  —  I  could  n't."  But  he 
suffered  me  to  lead  him  forward,  nevertheless.  Once  he 
stopped  and  glanced  round,  but  the  village  was  asleep 
about  us.  And  so  we  presently  came  to  the  open  doorway 
of  the  forge. 

And  behold !  Prue  was  kneeling  before  the  anvil  with 
her  face  hidden  in  her  arms,  and  her  slender  body  swaying 
slightly.  But  all  at  once,  as  if  she  felt  him  near  her,  she 
raised  her  head  and  saw  him,  and  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
a  glad  cry.  And,  as  she  stood,  George  went  to  her,  and 
knelt  at  her  feet,  and  raising  the  hem  of  her  gown,  stooped 
and  kissed  it. 

"  Oh,  my  sweet  maid !  "  said  he.  "  Oh,  my  sweet  Prue ! 
—  I  bean't  worthy  —  I  bean't  —  "  But  she  caught  the 
great  shaggy  head  to  her  bosom  and  stifled  it  there. 

And  in  her  face  was  a  radiance  —  a  happiness  beyond 
words,  and  the  man's  strong  arms  clung  close  about  her. 

So  I  turned,  and  left  them  in  paradise  together. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

WHICH    SYMPATHIZES    WITH    A    BRASS    JACK,    A    BEACE 
OF    CUTLASSES,    AND    DIVERS    POTS    AND    PANS 

I  FOUND  the  Ancient  sunning  himself  in  the  porch  before 
the  inn,  as  he  waited  for  his  breakfast. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  "  I  be  tur'ble  cold  sometimes.  It 
comes  a-creepin'  on  me  all  at  once,  even  if  I  be  sittin' 
before  a  roarin'  fire  or  a-baskin'  in  this  good,  warm  sun 
—  a  cold  as  reaches  down  into  my  poor  old  'eart  —  grave- 
chills,  I  calls  'em,  Peter  —  ah !  grave-chills.  Ketches  me 
by  the  'eart  they  do ;  ye  see  I  be  that  old,  Peter,  that  old 
an'  wore  out." 

"  But  you  're  a  wonderful  man  for  your  age ! "  said  I, 
clasping  the  shrivelled  hand  in  mine,  "  and  very  lusty  and 
strong  —  " 

"  So  strong  as  a  bull  I  be,  Peter !  "  he  nodded  readily, 
"  but  then,  even  a  bull  gets  old  an'  wore  out,  an'  these 
grave-chills  ketches  me  oftener  an'  oftener.  'T  is  like  as 
if  the  Angel  o'  Death  reached  out  an'  touched  me  —  just 
touched  me  wi'  'is  finger,  soft-like,  as  much  as  to  say: 
'  'Ere  be  a  poor,  old,  wore-out  creeter  as  I  shall  be  wantin' 
soon.'  Well,  I  be  ready ;  't  is  only  the  young  or  the  fule 
as  fears  to  die.  Threescore  years  an'  ten,  says  the  Bible, 
an'  I  be  years  an'  years  older  than  that.  Oh !  I  sha'n't  be 
af eared  to  answer  when  I  'm  called,  Peter.  '  'Ere  I  be. 
Lord ! '  I  '11  say.  '  'Ere  I  be,  thy  poor  old  servant '  —  but 
oh,  Peter !  if  I  could  be  sure  o'  that  theer  old  rusty  stapil 
bein'  took  first,  why  then  I'd  go  j'yful  —  j'yful,  but  — 
why  theer  be  that  old  fule  Amos  —  Lord !  what  a  dodderin' 


Sympathizes  with  a  Brass  Jack      441 

old  fule  'e  be,  an'  theer  be  Job,  an'  Button  —  they  be  comin' 
to  plague  me,  Peter,  I  can  feel  it  in  my  bones.  Jest  reach 
me  my  snuff-box  out  o'  my  'ind  pocket,  an'  you  shall  see 
me  smite  they  Amalekites  'ip  an'  thigh." 

"  Gaffer,"  began  Old  Amos,  saluting  us  with  his  usual 
grin,  as  he  came  up,  "  we  be  wishful  to  ax  'ee  a  question 
—  we  be  wishful  to  know  wheer  be  Black  Jarge,  which  you 
'avin'  gone  to  fetch  'im,  an'  bring  'im  'ome  again  —  them 
was  your  words." 

"  Ah ! "  nodded  Job,  "  them  was  your  very  words, 
*  bring  'im  'ome  again,'  says  you  —  " 

"  But  you  did  n't  bring  'im  'ome,"  continued  Old  Amos, 
**  leastways,  not  in  the  cart  wi'  you.  Button  'ere  —  James 
Button  see  you  come  drivin'  'ome,  but  'e  did  n't  see  no 
Jarge  along  wi'  you  —  no,  not  so  much  as  you  could  shake 
a  stick  at,  as  you  might  say.  Speak  up,  James  Button  — 
you  was  a-leanin'  over  your  front  gate  as  Gaffer  come 
drivin'  'ome,  was  n't  you,  an'  you  see  Gaffer  plain  as  plain, 
did  n't  you.?" 

"  W'ich,  me  wishiri'  no  offense,  an'  no  one  objectin'  — 
I  did,"  began  the  Apology,  perspiring  profusely  as  usual, 
"  but  I  takes  the  liberty  to  say  as  it  were  a  spade,  an'  not 
a  gate  —  leastways  —  " 

"But  you  didn't  see  no  signs  o'  Jarge,  did  ye.'*"  de- 
manded Old  Amos,  "  as  ye  might  say,  neither  'ide  nor  'air 
of  'im  —  speak  up,  James  Button." 

"  W'ich,  since  you  axes  me,  I  makes  so  bold  as  to  an- 
swer —  an'  very  glad  I  'm  sure  —  no ;  though  as  to  'ide 
an'  'air,  I  are  n't  wishin'  to  swear  to,  me  not  bein'  near 
enough  —  w'ich  could  only  be  expected,  an'  very  much 
obliged,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Ye  see,  Gaffer,"  pursued  Amos,  "  if  you  did  n't  bring 
Jarge  back  wi'  you  —  w'ich  you  said  you  would  —  the 
question  we  axes  is  —  wheer  be  Jarge  .'*  " 

"  Ah !  —  wheer  ?  "  nodded  Job  gloomily.  Here  the  An- 
cient was  evidently  at  a  loss,  to  cover  which,  he  took  a 
vast  pinch  of  snuff. 

*'  'Ow  be  we  to  know  as  'e  bean't  pinin'  away  in  a  dun- 


442  The  Broad  Highway 

geon  cell  wi'  irons  on  'is  legs,  an'  strapped  in  a  strait- 
j  acket  an  —  " 

Old  Amos  stopped,  open-mouthed  and  staring,  for  out 
from  the  gloom  of  the  smithy  issued  Black  George  himself, 
with  Prue  upon  his  arm.  The  Ancient  stared  also,  but, 
dissembling  his  vast  surprise,  he  dealt  the  lid  of  his  snuff- 
box two  loud,  triumphant  knocks. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  rising  stiffly,  "  Peter,  lad,  I  were  be- 
ginnin'  to  think  as  Jarge  were  never  comin'  in  to  breakfus' 
at  all.  I  've  waited  and  waited  till  I  be  so  ravenous  as  a 
lion  an'  tiger  —  but  'ere  'e  be  at  last,  Peter,  'ere  'e  be,  so 
let 's  go  in  an'  eat  summ^at."  Saying  which,  he  turned 
his  back  upon  his  discomfited  tormentors,  and  led  me  into 
the  kitchen  of  the  inn. 

And  there  were  the  white-capped  maids  setting  forth 
such  a  breakfast  as  only  such  a  kitchen  could  produce. 
And,  presently,  there  was  Prue  herself,  with  George  hang- 
ing back,  something  shamefaced,  till  the  Ancient  had  hob- 
bled forward  to  give  him  welcome.  And  there  was  honest 
Simon,  all  wonderment  and  hearty  greeting.  And  (la.st, 
but  by  no  means  least)  there  were  the  battered  cutlasses, 
the  brass  jack,  and  the  glittering  pots  and  pans —  glit- 
tering and  gleaming  and  twinkling  a  greeting  likewise, 
and  with  all  their  might. 

Ah !  but  they  little  guessed  why  Prue's  eyes  were  so 
shy  and  sweet,  or  why  the  color  came  and  went  in  her  pretty 
cheeks ;  little  they  guessed  why  this  golden-haired  giant 
trod  so  lightly,  and  held  his  t^ll  head  so  very  high  —  little 
they  dreamed  of  the  situation  as  yet ;  had  they  done  so, 
surely  they  must,  one  and  all,  have  fallen  upon  that  curly, 
golden  head  and  buried  it  beneath  their  gleaming,  glitter- 
ing, twinkling  jealousy. 

And  what  a  meal  was  that !  with  those  deft,  white- 
capped  maids  to  wait  upon  our  wants,  and  with  Prudence 
hovering  here  and  there  to  see  that  all  were  duly  served, 
and  refusing  to  sit  down  until  George's  great  arm  —  a 
very  gentle  arm  for  one  so  strong  and  big  —  drew  her 
down  beside  him. 


Sympathizes  with  a  Brass  Jack      443 

Yes,  truly,  what  a  meal  that  was,  and  how  tlie  Ancient 
chuckled,  and  dug  me  with  one  bony'  elbow  and  George 
with  the  other,  and  chuckled  again  till  he  choked,  and 
choked  till  he  gasped,  and  gasped  till  he  had  us  all  upon 
our  feet,  then  demanded  indignantly  why  we  could  n't  let 
him  "enj'y  hisself  in  peace." 

And  now,  when  the  meal  was  nearly  over,  he  suddenly 
took  it  into  his  head  that  Prue  did  n't  love  George  as  she 
should  and  as  he  deserved  to  be,  and  nothing  would  con- 
tent him  but  that  she  must  kiss  him  then  and  there. 

"  An'  not  on  the  forr'ud,  mind  —  nor  on  the  cheek,  but 
on  the  place  as  God  made  for  it  —  the  mouth,  my  lass !  " 

And  now,  who  so  shy  and  blushing  as  Prue,  and  who 
so  nervous,  for  her  sake,  as  Black  George,  very  evidently 
clasping  her  hand  under  the  table,  and  bidding  her  never 
to  mind  —  as  he  was  content,  and  never  to  put  herself 
out  over  such  as  him.  Whereupon  Mistress  Prue  must 
needs  turn,  and  taking  his  head  between  her  hands,  kissed 
him  —  not  once,  or  twice,  but  three  times,  and  upon  "  the 
place  God  made  for  it  —  the  mouth." 

O  gleaming  Cutlasses !  O  great  Brass  Jack  and  glitter- 
ing Pots  and  Pans !  can  ye  any  longer  gleam  and  glitter 
and  twinkle  in  doubt.?  Alas!  I  trow  not.  Therefore  it 
is  only  natural  and  to  be  expected  that  beneath  your  out- 
ward polish  lurk  black  and  bijtter  feelings  against  this 
curly-headed  giant,  and  a  bloodthirsty  desire  for  ven- 
geance. If  so,  then  one  and  all  of  you  have,  at  least,  the 
good  feeling  not  to  show  it,  a  behavior  worthy  of  gentle- 
men —  what  do  I  say.?  —  of  gentlemen.?  —  fie !  rather  let 
it  be  said  —  of  pots  and  pans. 


CHAPTER    XXXVn 


THE    PREACHEE 


It  is  a  wise  and  (to  some  extent)  a  true  saying,  that  hard 
work  is  an  antidote  to  sorrow,  a  panacea  for  all  trouble; 
but  when  the  labor  is  over  and  done,  when  the  tools  are 
set  by,  and  the  weary  worker  goes  forth  into  the  quiet 
evening  —  how  then?  For  we  cannot  always  work,  and, 
sooner  or  later,  comes  the  still  hour  when  Memory  rushes 
in  upon  us  again,  and  Sorrow  and  Remorse  sit,  dark  and 
gloomy,  on  either  hand. 

A  week  dragged  by,  a  season  of  alternate  hope  and  black 
despair,  a  restless  fever  of  nights  and  days,  for  with  each 
dawn  came  hope,  that  lived  awhile  beside  me,  only  to  fly 
away  with  the  sun,  and  leave  me  to  despair. 

I  hungered  for  the  sound  of  Charmian's  voice,  for  the 
quick,  light  fall  of  her  foot,  for  the  least  touch  of  her 
hand.  I  became  more  and  more  possessed  of  a  morbid 
fancy  that  she  might  be  existing  near  by  —  could  I  but 
find  her;  that  she  had  passed  along  the  road  only  a  little 
while  before  me,  or,  at  this  very  moment,  might  be  ap- 
proaching, might  be  within  sight,  were  I  but  quick  enough. 

Often  at  such  times  I  would  fling  down  my  hammer  or 
tongs,  to  George's  surprise,  and,  hurrying  to  tlie  door, 
stare  up  and  down  the  road ;  or  pause  in  my  hammer- 
strokes,  fiercely  bidding  George  do  the  same,  fancying  I 
heard  her  voice  calling  to  me  from  a  distance.  And  George 
would  watch  me  with  a  troubled  brow  but,  with  a  rare 
delicacy,  say  no  word. 

Indeed,  the  thought  of  Charmian  was  with  me  every- 
where, the  ringing  hammers  mocked  me  with  her  praises, 


The  Preacher  445 


the  bellows  sang  of  her  beauty,  the  trees  whispered  "  Char- 
mian !     Charmian !  "  and  Charmian  was  in  the  very  air. 

But  when  I  had  reluctantly  bidden  George  "  good  night," 
and  stt  out  along  lanes  full  of  the  fragrant  dusk  of  even- 
ing ;  when,  reaching  the  Hollow,  I  followed  that  leafy  path 
beside  the  brook,  which  she  and  I  had  so  often  trodden 
together;  when  I  sat  in  my  gloomy,  disordered  cottage, 
with  the  deep  silence  unbroken  save  for  the  plaintive  mur- 
mur of  the  brook  —  then,  indeed,  my  loneliness  was  well- 
nigh  more  than  I  could  bear. 

There  were  dark  hours  when  the  cottage  rang  with 
strange  sounds,  when  I  would  lie  face  down  upon  the  floor, 
clutching  my  throbbing  temples  between  my  palms  —  fear- 
ful of  myself,  and  dreading  the  oncoming  horror  of 
madness. 

It  was  at  this  time,  too,  that  I  began  to  be  haunted  by 
the  thing  above  the  door  —  the  rusty  staple  upon  which 
a  man  had  choked  out  his  wretched  life  sixty  and  six  years 
ago ;  a  wanderer,  a  lonely  man,  perhaps  acquainted  with 
misery  or  haunted  by  remorse,  one  who  had  suffered  much 
and  long  —  even  as  I  —  but  who  had  eventually  escaped 
it  all  —  even  as  I  might  do.  Thus  I  would  sit,  chin  in 
hand,  staring  up  at  this  staple  until  the  light  failed,  and 
sometimes,  in  the  dead  of  night,  I  would  steal  softly  there 
to  touch  it  with  my  finger. 

Looking  back  on  all  this,  it  seems  that  I  came  very  near 
losing  my  reason,  for  I  had  then  by  no  means  recovered 
from  Black  George's  fist,  and  indeed  even  now  I  am  at 
times  not  wholly  free  from  its  effect. 

My  sleep,  too,  was  often  broken  and  troubled  with  wild 
dreams,  so  that  bed  became  a  place  of  horror,  and,  rising, 
I  would  sit  before  the  empty  hearth,  a  candle  guttering  at 
my  elbow,  and  think  of  Charmian  until  I  would  fancy  I 
heard  the  rustle  of  her  garments  behind  me,  and  start  up, 
trembling  and  breathless ;  at  such  times  the  tap  of  a  blown 
leaf  against  the  lattice  would  fill  me  with  a  fever  of  hope 
and  expectation.  Often  and  often  her  soft  laugh  stole 
to  me  in  the  gurgle  of  the  brook,  and  she  would  call  to 


44^  The  Broad  Highway 

me  in  the  deep  night  silences  in  a  voice  very  sweet,  and 
faint,  and  far  away.  Then  I  would  plunge  out  into  the 
dark,  and  lift  my  hands  to  the  stars  that  winked  upon  my 
agony,  and  journey  on  through  a  desolate  world,  to  re- 
turn with  the  dawn,  weary  and  despondent. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  wild  night  expeditions  that  I 
sat  beneath  a  tree,  watching  the  sunrise.  And  yet  1  think 
I  must  have  dozed,  for  I  was  startled  by  a  voice  close  above 
me,  and,  glancing  up,  I  recognized  the  little  Preacher.  As 
our  eyes  met  he  immediately  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips, 
and  made  as  though  to  cram  it  into  his  pocket. 

"  Though,  indeed,  it  is  empty !  "  he  explained,  as  though 
I  had  spoken.  "  Old  habits  cling  to  one,  young  sir,  and 
my  pipe,  here,  has  been  the  friend  of  my  solitude  these 
many  years,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  turn  my  back  upon  it 
yet,  so  I  carry  it  with  me  still,  and  sometimes,  when  at  all 
thoughtful,  I  find  it  between  my  lips.  But  though  the 
flesh,  as  you  see,  is  very  weak,  I  hope,  in  time,  to  forego 
even  this,"  and  he  sighed,  shaking  his  head  in  gentle  depre- 
cation of  himself.  "  But  you  look  pale  —  haggard,"  he 
went  on ;  "  you  are  ill,  young  sir !  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  I,  springing  to  my  feet ;  "  look  at  this 
arm,  is  it  the  arm  of  a  sick  man?  No,  no  —  I  am  well 
enough,  but  what  of  him  we  found  in  the  ditch,  you 
and  I  —  the  miserable  creature  who  lay  bubbling  in  the 
grass?  " 

"  He  has  been  very  near  death,  sir  —  indeed  his  days 
are  numbered,  I  think,  yet  he  is  better,  for  the  time  being, 
and  last  night  declared  his  intention  of  leaving  the  shelter 
of  my  humble  roof  and  setting  forth  upon  his  mission." 

"  His  mission,  sir?  " 

"  He  speaks  of  himself  as  one  chosen  by  God  to  work 
His  will,  and  asks  but  to  live  until  this  mission,  whatever 
it  is,  be  accomplished.  A  strange  being !  "  said  the  little 
Preacher,  puffing  at  his  empty  pipe  again  as  we  walked 
on  side  by  side,  "  a  dark,  incomprehensible  man,  and  a 
very,  very  wretched  one  —  poor  soul !  " 

"Wretched?"    said   I,   "is   not   that   our    human   lot? 


The  Preacher  447 

*  Man  is  born  to  sorrow  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,'  and 
Job  was   accounted  wise  in  his  generation." 

"  That  was  a  cry  from  the  depths  of  despond ;  but  Job 
stood,  at  last,  upon  the  heights,  and  felt  once  more  God's 
blessed  sun,  and  rejoiced  —  even  as  we  should.  But,  as 
regards  this  stranger,  he  is  one  who  would  seem  to  have 
suffered  some  great  wrong,  the  continued  thought  of  which 
has  unhinged  his  mind ;  his  heart  seems  broken  —  dead. 
I  have,  sitting  beside  his  delirious  couch,  heard  him 
babble  a  terrible  indictment  against  some  man ;  I  have 
also  heard  him  pray,  and  his  prayers  have  been  all  for 
vengeance." 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  said  I,  "  it  were  better  we  had  left  him 
to  die  in  his  ditch,  for  if  death  does  not  bring  oblivion,  it 
may  bring  a  change  of  scene." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Preacher,  laying  his  hand  upon  my  arm, 
"  such  bitterness  in  one  so  young  is  unnatural ;  you  are 
in  some  trouble,  I  would  that  I  might  aid  you,  be  your 
friend  —  know  you  better  —  " 

*'  Oh,  sir !  that  is  easily  done.  I  am  a  blacksmith,  hard- 
working, sober,  and  useful  to  my  fellows ;  they  call  me 
Peter  Smith.  A  certain  time  since  I  was  a  useless  dreamer ; 
spending  more  money  in  a  week  than  I  now  earn  in  a  year, 
and  getting  very  little  for  it.  I  was  studious,  egotistical, 
and  pedantic,  wasting  my  time  upon  impossible  transla- 
tions that  nobody  wanted  —  and  they  knew  me  as  —  Peter 
Vibart." 

"  Vibart !  "  exclaimed  the  Preacher,  starting  and  looking 
up  at  me. 

"Vibart!"  I  nodded. 

"  Related  in  any  way  to  —  Sir  Maurice  Vibart .''  " 

"  His  cousin,  sir."  My  companion  appeared  lost  in 
thought,  for  he  was  puffing  at  his  empty  pipe  again. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  Sir  Maurice  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,"  returned  the  Preacher ;  "  no,  sir,  but  I  have 
heard  mention  of  him,  and  lately,  though  just  when,  or 
where,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  recall." 

"  Why,  the  name  is  familiar  to  a  great  many  people," 


44^  The  Broad  Highway 

said  I ;  "  you  see,  he  is  rather  a  famous  character,  in  his 
way." 

Talking  thus,  we  presently  reached  a  stile  beyond  which 
the  footpath  led  away  through  swaying  corn  and  by  shady 
hop-garden,  to  Sissinghurst  village.  Here  the  Preacher 
stopped  and  gave  me  his  hand,  but  I  noticed  he  still  puffed 
at  his  pipe. 

"  And  you  are  now  a  blacksmith?  " 

"  And  mightily  content  so  to  be.'* 

*'  You  are  a  most  strange  young  man ! "  said  the 
Preacher,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Many  people  have  told  me  the  same,  sir,"  said  I,  and 
vaulted  over  the  stile.  Yet,  turning  back  when  I  had  gone 
some  way,  I  saw  him  leaning  where  I  had  left  him,  and 
with  his  pipe  still  in  his  mouth. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

IN    WHICH    I    MEET    MY    COUSIN,    SIR    MAUEICE    VIBART 

As  I  approached  the  smithy,  late  though  the  hour  was, 
(and  George  made  it  a  rule  to  have  the  fire  going  by  six 
every  morning},  no  sound  of  hammer  reached  me,  and 
coming  into  the  place,  I  found  it  empty.  Then  I  remem- 
bered that  to-day  George  was  to  drive  over  to  Tonbridgc, 
with  Prudence  and  the  Ancient,  to  invest  in  certain  house- 
hold necessities,  for  in  a  month's  time  they  were  to  be 
married. 

Hereupon  I  must  needs  contrast  George's  happy  future 
with  my  dreary  one,  and  fall  bitterly  to  cursing  myself; 
and,  sitting  on  the  Ancient's  stool  in  the  corner,  I  covered 
my  face,  and  my  thoughts  were  very  black. 

Now  presently,  as  I  sat  thus,  I  became  conscious  of  a 
very  delicate  perfume  in  the  air,  and  also,  that  some  one 
had  entered  quietly.  My  breath  caught  in  my  throat,  but 
I  did  not  at  once  look  up,  fearing  to  dispel  the  hope  that 
tingled  within  me.  So  I  remained  with  my  face  still  cov- 
ered until  something  touched  me,  and  I  saw  that  it  was 
the  gold-mounted  handle  of  a  whip,  wherefore  I  raised 
my  head  suddenly  and  glanced  up. 

Then  I  beheld  a  radiant  vision  in  polished  riding-boots 
and  speckless  moleskins,  in  handsome  flowered  waistcoat 
and  perfect-fitting  coat,  with  snowy  frills  at  throat  and 
wrists ;  a  tall,  gallant  figure,  of  a  graceful,  easy  bearing, 
who  stood,  a  picture  of  cool,  gentlemanly  insolence,  tap- 
ping his  boot  lightly  with  his  whip.  But,  as  his  eye  met 
mine,  the  tapping  whip  grew  suddenly  still;  his  languid 
expression  vanished,  he  came  a  quick  step  nearer  and  bent 


45  o  The  Broad  Highway 

liis  face  nearer  my  own  —  a  dark  face,  handsome  in  its 
way,  pale  and  aquiline,  with  a  powerful  jaw,  and  dominat- 
ing eyes  and  mouth;  a  face  (nay,  a  mask  rather)  that 
smiled  and  smiled,  but  never  showed  the  man  beneath. 

Now,  glancing  up  at  his  brow,  I  saw  there  a  small, 
newly  healed  scar. 

"  Is  it  possible.'*  "  said  he,  speaking  in  that  softly  modu- 
lated voice  I  remembered  to  have  heard  once  before.  "  Can 
it  be  possible  that  I  address  my  worthy  cousin.''  That 
shirt!  that  utterly  impossible  coat  and  belcher!  And  yet 
—  the  likeness  is  remarkable !  Have  I  the  —  honor  to 
address  Mr.  Peter  Vibari  —  late  of  Oxford.''  " 

"  The  same,  sir,"  I  answered,  rising. 

"  Then,  most  worthy  cousin,  I  salute  you,"  and  he  re- 
moved his  hat,  bowing  with  an  ironic  grace.  "  Believe  me, 
I  have  frequently  desired  to  see  that  paragon  of  all  the 
virtues  whose  dutiful  respect  our  revered  uncle  rewarded 
with  the  proverbial  shilling.  Egad !  "  he  went  on,  exam- 
ining me  through  his  glass  with  a  great  show  of  interest, 
"  had  you  been  any  other  than  that  same  virtuous  Cousin 
Peter  whose  graces  and  perfections  were  forever  being 
thrown  at  my  head,  I  could  have  sympathized  with  you, 
positively  —  if  only  on  account  of  that  most  obnoxious 
coat  and  belcher,  and  the  grime  and  sootiness  of  things 
in  general.  Poof !  "  he  exclaimed,  pressing  his  perfumed 
handkerchief  to  his  nostrils,  "  faugh !  how  damnably  sul- 
phur-and-brimstony  you  do  keep  yourself,  cousin  —  oh, 
gad !  " 

"  You  would  certainly  find  it  much  clearer  outside,"  said 
I,  beginning  to  blow  up  the  fire. 

"  But  then.  Cousin  Peter,  outside  one  must  become  a 
target  for  the  yokel  eye,  and  I  detest  being  stared  at  by 
the  uneducated,  who,  naturally,  lack  appreciation.  On 
the  whole,  I  prefer  the  smoke,  though  it  chokes  one  most 
infernally.  Where  may  one  venture  to  sit  here.? "  I 
tendered  him  the  stool,  but  he  shook  his  head,  and,  cross- 
ing to  the  anvil,  flicked  it  daintily  with  his  handkerchief 
and  sat  down,  dangling  his  leg. 


In  which  I  Meet  my  Cousin     451 

"  'Pon  my  soul !  "  said  he,  eyeing  me  languidly  through 
his  glass  again,  "  'pon  my  soul !  you  are  damnably  like 
me,  you  know,  in  features." 

"  Damnably !  "  I  nodded. 

He  glanced  at  me  sharply,  and  laughed. 

"  My  man,  a  creature  of  the  name  of  Parks,"  said  he, 
swinging  his  spurred  boot  to  and  fro,  "  led  me  to  suppose 
that  I  should  meet  a  person  here  —  a  blacksmith  fellow  —  " 

"  Your  man  Parks  informed  you  correctly,"  I  nodded ; 
"  what  can  I  do  for  you.''  " 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Maurice,  shaking  his  head ; 
"  but  no  —  you  are,  as  I  gather,  somewhat  eccentric,  but 
even  you  would  never  take  such  a  desperate  step  as  to  — 
to  —  " 

"  —  become  a  blacksmith  fellow .''  "  I  put  in. 

"  Precisely !  " 

"  Alas,  Sir  Maurice,  I  blush  to  say  that  rather  than 
become  an  unprincipled  adventurer  living  on  my  wits,  or 
a  mean-spirited  hanger-on  fawning  upon  acquaintances  for 
a  livelihood,  or  doing  anything  rather  than  soil  my  hands 
with  honest  toil,  I  became  a  blacksmith  fellow  some  four 
or  five  months  ago." 

"  Really  it  is  most  distressing  to  observe  to  what  depths 
Virtue  may  drag  a  man !  —  you  are  a  very  monster  of  pro- 
bity and  rectitude !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Maurice ;  "  indeed  I  am 
astonished!  you  manifested  not  only  shocking  bad  judg- 
ment, but  a  most  deplorable  lack  of  thought  (Virtue  is 
damnably  selfish  as  a  rule) —  really,  it  is  quite  disconcert- 
ing to  find  one's  self  first  cousin  to  a  blacksmith  —  " 

"  —  fellow!"  I  add^. 

"Fellow!"  nodded  Sir  Maurice.  "Oh,  the  devil!  to 
think  of  my  worthy  cousin  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
laboring  with  hammer  and  saw  —  " 

"  Not  a  saw,"  I  put  in. 

**  We  will  say,  chisel,  then  —  a  Vibart  with  hammer 
and  chisel  —  deuce  take  me !  Most  distressing !  and,  you 
will  pardon  my  saying  so,  you  do  not  seem  to  thrive  on 
hammers  and  chisels ;   no  one  could  say  you  looked  bloom- 


452  The  Broad  Highway 

ing,  or  even  flourishing  like  the  young  bay  tree  (which  is, 
I  fancy,  an  Eastern  expression)." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  may  I  remind  you  that  I  have  work  to 
do?" 

"  A  deuced  interesting  place  though,  this,"  he  smiled,  j 
staring  round  imperturbably  through  his  glass  ;  "  so  —  er 

—  so  devilish  grimy  and  smutty  and  gritty  —  quite  a  num- 
ber of  horseshoes,  too.  D'  ye  know,  cousin,  I  never  before 
remarked  what  a  number  of  holes  there  are  in  a  horseshoe   , 

—  but  live  and  learn  !  "  Here  he  paused  to  inhale  a  pinch  1 
of  snuff,  very  daintily,  from  a  jewelled  box.  "  It  is  a 
strange  thing,"  he  pursued,  as  he  dusted  his  fingers  on 
his  handkerchief,  "  a  very  strange  thing  that,  being  cousins, 
we  have  never  met  till  now  —  especially  as  I  have  heard 
so  very  much  about  you." 

"  Pray,"  said  I,  "  pray  how  should  you  hear  about  one 
so  very  insignificant  as  myself.'* " 

"  Oh,  I  have  heard  of  good  Cousin  Peter  since  I  was  an 
imp  of  a  boy !  "  he  smiled.  "  Cousin  Peter  was  my  chart 
whereby  to  steer  through  the  shoals  of  boyish  mischief 
into  the  haven  of  our  Uncle  George's  good  graces.  Oh,  I 
have  heard  over  much  of  you,  cousin,  from  dear,  kind, 
well-meaning  relatives  and  friends  —  damn  'em !  They 
rang  your  praises  in  my  ears,  morning,  noon,  and  night. 
And  why.?  —  simply  that  I  might  come  to  surpass  you  in 
virtue,  learning,  wit,  and  appearance,  and  so  win  our  Uncle 
George's  regard,  and,  incidentally,  his  legacy.  But  I  was 
a  young  demon,  romping  with  the  grooms  in  the  stable, 
while  you  were  a  young  angel  in  nankeens,  passing  studious 
hours  with  your  books.  When  I  was  a  scapegrace  at 
Harrow,  you  were  winning  golden  opinions  at  Eton ;  when 
you  were  an  '  honors  '  man  at  Oxford,  I  was  *  rusticated ' 
at  Cambridge.  Naturally  enough,  perhaps,  I  grew  sick 
of  the  name  of  Peter  (and,  indeed,  it  smacks  damnably  of 
fish,  don't  you  think.?) — you,  or  your  name,  crossed  me 
at  every  turn.  If  it  was  n't  for  Cousin  Peter,  I  was  heir 
to  ten  thousand  a  year;  but  good  Cousin  Peter  was  so 
fond  of  Uncle  George,  and  Uncle  George  was  so  fond  of 


In  which  I  Meet  my  Cousin      453 

good  Cousin  Peter,  that  Maurice  might  go  hang  for  a 
graceless  dog  and  be  damned  to  him !  *' 

"  You  have  my  deepest  sympathy  and  apologies !  "  said  I. 

"  Still,  I  have  sometimes  been  curious  to  meet  worthy 
Cousin  Peter,  and  it  is  rather  surprising  that  I  hare  never 
done  so." 

"  On  the  contrary  —  "I  began,  but  his  laugh  stopped 
me. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  "  he  nodded,  "  our  ways  have  lain 
widely  separate  hitherto  —  you,  a  scholar,  treading  the 
difficult  path  of  learning ;  I  —  oh,  egad !  a  terrible  fel- 
low! a  mauvais  sujet!  a  sad,  sad  dog!  But  after  all, 
cousin,  when  one  comes  to  look  at  you  to-day,  you  might 
stand  for  a  terrible  example  of  Virtue  run  riot  —  a  dis- 
tressing spectacle  of  dutiful  respect  and  good  precedent 
cut  off  with  a  shilling.  Really,  it  is  horrifying  to  observe 
to  what  depths  Virtue  may  plunge  an  otherwise  well- 
balanced  individual.  Little  dreamed  those  dear,  kind,  well- 
meaning  relatives  and  friends  —  damn  'em !  that  while  the 
wilful  Maurice  lived  on,  continually  getting  into  hot  water 
and  out  again,  up  to  his  eyes  in  debt,  and  pretty  well  es- 
teemed, the  virtuous  pattern  Peter  would  descend  to  a 
hammer  and  saw  —  I  should  say,  chisel  —  in  a  very  grimy 
place  where  he  is,  it  seems,  the  presiding  genius.  Indeed, 
this  first  meeting  of  ours,  under  these  circumstances,  is 
somewhat  dramatic,  as  it  should  be." 

"  And  yet,  we  have  met  before,"  said  I,  "  and  the  cir- 
cumstances were  then  even  more  dramatic,  perhaps,  —  we 
met  in  a  tempest,  sir." 

"  Ha ! "  he  exclaimed,  dwelling  on  the  word,  and  speak- 
ing very  slowly,  "  a  tempest,  cousin  ?  " 

"  There  was  much  wind  and  rain,  and  it  was  very  dark." 

"  Dark,  cousin  ?  " 

"  But  I  saw  your  face  very  plainly  as  you  lay  on  your 
back,  sir,  by  the  aid  of  a  Postilion's  lanthorn,  and  was 
greatly  struck  by  our  mutual  resemblance."  Sir  Maurice 
raised  his  glass  and  looked  at  me,  and,  as  he  looked,  smiled, 
but  he  could  not  hide  the  sudden,  passionate  quiver  of  his 


454  The  Broad  Highway 

thin  nostrils,  or  the  gleam  of  the  eyes  beneath  their  lan- 
guid lids.  He  rose  slowly  and  paced  to  the  door ;  when  he 
came  back  again,  he  was  laughing  softly,  but  still  he  could 
not  hide  the  quiver  of  his  nostrils,  or  the  gleam  of  the  eyes 
beneath  their  languid  lids. 

"  So  —  it  was  —  you?  "  he  murmured,  with  a  pause  be- 
tween the  words.  "  Oh,  was  ever  anything  so  damnably 
contrary !  To  think  that  I  should  hunt  her  into  your  very 
arms !  To  think  that  of  all  men  in  the  world  it  should  bo 
you  to  play  the  squire  of  dames !  "  And  he  laughed  again, 
but,  as  he  did  so,  the  stout  riding-whip  snapped  in  his  hands 
like  a  straw.  He  glanced  down  at  the  broken  pieces,  and 
from  them  to  me.  "  You  see,  I  am  rather  strong  in  the 
hands,  cousin,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "  but  I  was  not 
—  quite  strong  enough,  last  time  we  met,  though,  to  be 
sure,  as  you  say,  it  was  very  dark.  Had  I  known  it  was 
worthy  Cousin  Peter's  throat  I  grasped,  I  think  I  might 
have  squeezed  it  just  —  a  little  —  tighter," 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  I  really  don't  think 
you  could  have  done  it." 

"  Yes,"  he  sighed,  tossing  his  broken  whip  into  a  corner. 
"  Yes,  I  think  so  —  you  see,  I  mistook  you  for  merely  an 
interfering  country  bumpkin  —  " 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded,  "  while  I,  on  the  other  hand,  took  you 
for  a  fine  gentleman  nobly  intent  on  the  ruin  of  an  unfor- 
tunate, friendless  girl,  whose  poverty  would  seem  to  make 
her  an  easy  victim  —  " 

"  In  which  it  appears  you  were  as  much  mistaken  as  I, 
Cousin  Peter."  Here  he  glanced  at  me  with  a  sudden 
keenness. 

"Indeed.?" 

"  Why,  surely,"  said  he,  "  surely  you  must  know  —  " 
He  paused  to  flick  a  speck  of  soot  from  his  knee,  and  then 
continued:    "Did  she  tell  you  nothing  of  —  herself .'' " 

"  Very  little  beside  her  name." 

"  Ah !  she  told  you  her  name,  then .''  " 

"  Yes,  she  told  me  her  name." 

"WeU,  cousin.?" 


In  which  I  Meet  my  Cousin      455 

"  Well,  sir  ?  "  We  had  both  risen,  and  now  fronted  each 
other  across  the  anvil,  Sir  Maurice  debonair  and  smiling, 
while  I  stood  frowning  and  gloomy. 

"  Come,"  said  I  at  last,  "  let  us  understand  each  other 
once  for  all.  You  tell  me  that  you  have  always  looked  upon 
me  as  your  rival  for  our  uncle's  good  graces  —  I  never  was. 
You  have  deceived  yourself  into  believing  that  because  I 
was  his  ward  that  alone  augmented  my  chances  of  becom- 
ing the  heir;  it  never  did.  He  saw  me  as  seldom  as  pos- 
sible, and,  if  he  ever  troubled  his  head  about  either  of 
us,  it  would  seem  that  he  favored  you.  I  tell  you  I  never 
was  your  rival  in  the  past,  and  never  shall  be  in  the 
future." 

"  Meaning,  cousin  ?  " 

"  Meaning,  sir,  in  regard  to  either  the  legacy  or  the 
Lady  Sophia  Sefton.  I  was  never  fond  enough  of  money 
to  marry  for  it.  I  have  never  seen  this  lady,  nor  do  I  pro- 
pose to,  thus,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  are  free  to 
win  her  and  the  fortune  as  soon  as  you  will ;  I,  as  you  see, 
prefer  horseshoes." 

"  And  what,"  said  Sir  Maurice,  flicking  a  speck  of  soot 
from  his  cuff,  and  immediately  looking  at  me  again,  "  what 
of  Charmian.''  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  "  nor  should  I  be  likely  to 
tell  you,  if  I  did ;  wherever  she  may  be  she  is  safe,  I  trust, 
and  beyond  your  reach  —  " 

"  No,"  he  broke  in,  "  she  will  never  be  beyond  my  reach 
until  she  is  dead  —  or  I  am  —  perhaps  not  even  then, 
and  I  shall  f  id  her  again,  sooner  or  later,  depend  upon  it 
—  yes,  you  i  lay  depend  upon  that !  " 

"  Cousin  Maurice,"  said  I,  reaching  out  my  hand  to  him, 
"  wherever  she  may  be,  she  is  alone  and  unprotected  — 
pursue  her  no  farther.  Go  back  to  London,  marry  your 
Lady  Sefton,  inherit  your  fortune,  but  leave  Charmian- 
Brown  in  peace." 

"  Ai  1  pray,"  said  he,  frowning  suddenly,  "  whence  this 
solicit!  \e  on  her  behalf  ?  What  is  she  to  you  —  this  Char- 
mian Brown.''  " 


45 6  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered  hurriedly,  "  nothing  at  all,  God 
knows  —  nor  ever  can  be  —  "  Sir  Maurice  leaned  sud- 
denly forward,  and,  catching  me  by  the  shoulder,  peered 
into  my  face. 

"  By  Heaven !  "  he  exclaimed",  "  the  fellow  —  actually  — 
loves  her !  " 

"Well?"  said  I,  meeting  his  look,  "why  not?  Yes,  I 
love  her."  A  very  fury  of  rage  seemed  suddenly  to  pos- 
sess him,  the  languid,  smiling  gentleman  became  a  devil 
with  vicious  eyes  and  evil,  snarling  mouth,  whose  fingers 
sank  into  my  flesh  as  he  swung  me  back  and  forth  in  a 
powerful  grip. 

"  You  love  her?  —  you?  —  you?  "  he  panted. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  flinging  him  ofi^  so  that  he  stag- 
gered ;  "  yes  —  yes  !  I  —  who  fought  for  her  once,  and 
am  willing  —  most  willing,  to  do  so  again,  now  or  at  any 
other  time,  for,  though  I  hold  no  hope  of  winning  her  — 
ever  —  yet  I  can  serve  her  still,  and  protect  her  from  the 
pollution  of  your  presence,"  and  I  clenched  my  fists. 

He  stood  poised  as  though  about  to  spring  at  me,  and 
I  saw  his  knuckles  gleam  whiter  than  the  laces  above  them, 
but,  all  at  once,  he  laughed  liglitly,  easily  as  ever. 

"  A  very  perfect,  gentle  knight !  "  he  murmured,  "  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche  —  though  soLiewhat  grimy  and  in 
a  leather  apron.  Chivalry  kneeling  amid  hammers  and 
horseshoes,  worshiping  Her  with  a  reverence  distant  and 
lowly !  How  like  you,  worthy  cousin,  how  very  like  you, 
and  how  affecting !  But  "  —  and  here  his  ostrils  quiv- 
ered again  —  "  but  I  tell  you  —  she  is  mine  —  mine,  and 
always  has  been,  and  no  man  living  shall  con  ?  between  us 
—  no,  by  God !  " 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  that  remains  to  be  seen !  " 

«Ha?" 

"  Though,  indeed,  I  think  she  is  safe  from  yoi  while 
I  live." 

"  But  then.  Cousin  Peter,  life  is  a  very  uncertaii  thing 
at  best,"  he  returned,  glancing  at  me  beneath  his  dr  oping 
lids. 


In  which  I  Meet  my  Cousin     457 

**  Yes,"  I  nodded,  "  it  is  sometimes  a  blessing  to  remem- 
ber that." 

Sir  Maurice  strolled  to  the  door,  and,  being  there, 
paused,  and  looked  back  over  his  shoulder. 

"  I  go  to  find  Charmian,"  said  he,  "  and  I  shall  find 
her  —  sooner  or  later,  and,  when  I  do,  should  you  take  it 
upon  yourself  to  —  come  between  us  again,  or  presume  to 
interfere  again,  I  shall  —  kill  you,  worthy  cousin,  without 
the  least  compunction.  If  you  think  this  sufllicient  warning 
—  act  upon  it,  if  not  — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
significantly.  "  Farewell,  good  and  worthy  Cousin  Peter, 
farewell !  —  or  shall  we  say  —  *  au  revoir  '  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

HOW    I    WENT    DOWN    INTO    THE    SHADOWS 

"  Peter,"  said  George,  one  evening,  turning  to  me  with 
the  troubled  look  I  had  seen  so  often  on  his  face  of  late, 
"  what  be  wrong  wi'  you,  my  chap  ?  You  be  growing  paler 
every  day.  Oh,  Peter!  you  be  like  a  man  as  is  dyin'  by 
inches  —  if  't  is  any  o'  my  doin'  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  George !  "  I  broke  in  with  sudden  asperity, 
"  I  am  well  enough !  " 

"  Yet  I  've  seen  your  'ands  fall  a-trembling  sometimes, 
Peter  —  all  at  once.  An'  you  missed  your  stroke  yester- 
day —  come  square  down  on  th'  anvil  —  you  can't  ha' 
forgot?  " 

"  I  remember,"  I  muttered ;  "  I  remember." 

"  An'  twice  again  to-day.  An'  you  be  silent,  Peter,  an' 
don't  seem  to  'ear  when  spoke  to,  an'  short  in  your  temper 
—  oh,  you  bean't  the  man  you  was.  I  've  see  it  a-comin' 
on  you  more  an'  more.  Oh,  man,  Peter !  "  he  cried,  turn- 
ing his  back  upon  me  suddenly,  "  you  as  I  'd  let  walk  over 
me  —  you  as  I  'd  be  cut  in  pieces  for  —  if  it  be  me  as 
done  it  —  " 

"  No,  no,  George  —  it  was  n't  you  —  of  course  not.  If 
I  am  a  little  strange  it  is  probably  due  to  lack  of  sleep, 
nothing  more." 

"  Ye  see,  Peter,  I  tried  so  'ard  to  kill  'ee,  an'  you  said 
yourself  as  I  come  nigh  doin'  it  —  " 

"  But  then,  you  did  n't  quite  manage  it,"  I  cried  harshly 
— "  would  to  God  you  had ;  as  it  is,  I  am  alive,  and 
there  's  an  end  of  it." 

"  'T  were  a  woundy  blow  I  give  'ee  —  that  last  one ! 


Down  into  the  Shadows        459 

I  '11  never  forget  the  look  o'  your  face  as  you  went  down. 
Oh,  Peter !  you  've  never  been  the  same  since  —  it  be  all 
my  doin'  —  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  and,  sinking  upon  the 
Ancient's  stool  in  the  corner,  Black  George  covered  his 
face. 

"  Never  think  of  it,  George,"  I  said,  laying  my  arm 
across  his  heaving  shoulders ;  "  that  is  all  over  and  done 
with,  dear  fellow,  and  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise,  since 
it  gained  me  your  friendship.  I  am  all  right,  well  and 
strong;   it  is  only  sleep  that  I  need,  George,  only  sleep." 

Upon  the  still  evening  air  rose  the  sharp  tap,  tap  of 
the  Ancient's  stick,  whereat  up  started  the  smith,  and, 
coming  to  the  forge,  began  raking  out  the  fire  with  great 
dust  and  clatter,  as  the  old  man  hobbled  up,  saluting  us 
cheerily  as  he  came. 

"  Lord!  "  he  exclaimed,  pausing  in  the  doorway  to  lean 
upon  his  stick  and  glance  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  with 
his  quick,  bright  eyes.  "  Lord !  theer  bean't  two  other 
such  fine,  up-standin',  likely-lookin'  chaps  in  all  the  South 
Country  as  you  two  chaps  be  —  no,  nor  such  smiths !  it 
du  warm  my  old  'eart  to  look  at  'ee.  Puts  me  in  mind  o' 
what  I  were  myself  —  ages  an'  ages  ago.  I  were  n't  quite 
so  tall  as  Jarge,  p'r'aps,  by  about  —  say  'alf-a-inch,  but 
then,  I  were  wider  —  wider,  ah !  a  sight  wider  in  the  shoul- 
der, an'  so  strong  as  —  four  bulls !  an'  wi'  eyes  big  an' 
sharp  an'  piercin'  —  like  Peter's,  only  Peter  's  bean't  quite 
so  sharp,  no,  nor  yet  so  piercin'  —  an'  that  minds  me  as 
I  've  got  noos  for  'ee,  Peter." 

*'  What  news  ?  "  said  I,  turning. 

"  S'prisin'  noos  it  be  —  ah !  an'  'stonishin'  tu.  But  first 
of  all,  Peter,  I  wants  to  ax  'ee  a  question." 

"What  is  it.  Ancient?" 

"  Why,  it  be  this,  Peter,"  said  the  old  man,  hobbling 
nearer,  and  peering  up  into  my  face,  "  ever  since  the  time 
as  I  went  an'  found  ye,  I  've  thought  as  theer  was  sum- 
m'at  strange  about  'ee,  what  wi'  your  soft  voice  an'  gentle 
ways ;  an'  it  came  on  me  all  at  once  —  about  three  o'  the 
clock  's  artemoon,  as  you  might  be  a  dook  —  in  disguise. 


460  The  Broad  Highway 

Peter.  Come  now,  be  ye  a  dock  or  bean't  ye  —  yes  or  no, 
Peter?  "  and  he  fixed  me  with  his  eye. 

"  No,  Ancient,"  I  answered,  smiling ;  "  I  'm  no  duke." 

"  Ah  well !  —  a  earl,  then?  " 

"  Nor  an  earl." 

"  A  barrynet,  p'r'aps  ?  " 

*'  Not  even  a  baronet." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  old  man,  eyeing  me  doubtfully,  "  I  've 
often  thought  as  you  might  be  one  or  t'  other  of  'em  — 
'specially  since  'bout  three  o'  the  clock  's  arternoon." 

"  Why  so?  " 

"  Why,  that 's  the  p'int  —  that 's  the  very  noos  as  I  've 
got  to  tell  'ee,"  chuckled  the  Ancient,  as  he  seated  himself 
in  the  comer.  "  You  must  know,  then,"  he  began,  with 
an  impressive  rap  on  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box,  "  'bout  three 
o'clock  's  arternoon  I  were  sittin'  on  the  stile  by  Simon's 
five-acre  field  when  along  the  road  comes  a  lady,  'an'some 
an'  proud-looking,  an'  as  fine  as  fine  could  be,  a-ridin'  of 
a  'orse,  an'  wi'  a  servant  ridin'  another  'orse  be'ind  'er. 
As  she  comes  up  she  gives  me  a  look  out  o'  'er  eyes,  soft 
they  was,  an'  dark,  an'  up  I  gets  to  touch  my  'at.  All  at 
once  she  smiles  at  me,  an'  'er  smile  were  as  sweet  an'  gentle 
as  'er  eyes ;  an'  she  pulls  up  'er  'orse.  *  W'y,  you  must 
be  the  Ancient ! '  says  she.  *  W'y,  so  Peter  calls  me,  my 
leddy,'  says  I.  'An'  'ow  is  Peter?  '  she  says,  quick-like; 
*  'ow  is  Peter?  '  says  she.  'Fine  an'  'earty,'  says  I;  '  eats 
well  an'  sleeps  sound,'  says  I ;  '  'is  arms  is  strong  an'  'is 
legs  is  strong,  an'  'e  are  n't  afeared  o'  nobody  —  like  a 
young  lion  be  Peter,'  says  I.  Now,  while  I  'm  a-sayin' 
this,  she  looks  at  me,  soft  an'  thoughtful-like,  an'  takes 
out  a  little  book  an'  begins  to  write  in  it,  a-wrinklin'  'er 
pretty  black  brows  over  it  an'  a-shakin'  'er  'ead  to  'erself. 
An'  presently  she  tears  out  what  she  's  been  a-writin'  an' 
gives  it  to  me.  '  Will  you  give  this  to  Peter  for  me?  '  says 
she.  '  That  I  will,  my  leddy !  '  says  I,  '  Thank  'ee ! '  says 
she,  smilin'  again,  an'  'oldin'  out  'er  w'ite  'an'  to  me,  which 
I  kisses.  '  Indeed ! '  says  she, '  I  understand  now  why  Peter 
is  so  fond  of  you.    I  think  I  could  be  very  fond  of  'ee  tu ! ' 


Down  into  the  Shadows      461 

says  she.  An'  so  she  turns  'er  'orse,  an'  the  servant  'e 
turns  'is  an'  off  they  go ;  an'  'ere,  Peter  —  'ere  be  the 
letter."  Saying  which,  the  Ancient  took  a  sHp  of  paper 
from  the  cavernous  interior  of  his  hat  and  tendered  it 
to  me. 

With  my  head  in  a  whirl,  I  crossed  to  the  door,  and 
leaned  there  awhile,  staring  sightlessly  out  into  the  sum- 
mer evening ;  for  it  seemed  that  in  this  little  slip  of  paper 
lay  that  which  meant  life  or  death  to  me ;  so,  for  a  long 
minute  I  leaned  there,  fearing  to  learn  my  fate.  Then  I 
opened  the  little  folded  square  of  paper,  and,  holding  it 
before  my  eyes,  read: 

*'  Charmian  Brown  presents "  (This  scratched  out.) 
"  While  you  busied  yourself  forging  horseshoes  your 
cousin,  Sir  Maurice,  sought  and  found  me.  I  do  not 
love  him,  but  —  Chaemian. 

"  Farewell  "  (This  also  scored  out.) 

Again  I  stared  before  me  with  unseeing  eyes,  but  my 
hands  no  longer  trembled,  nor  did  I  fear  any  more ;  the 
prisoner  had  received  his  sentence,  and  suspense  was  at 
an  end. 

And,  all  at  once,  I  laughed,  and  tore  the  paper  across, 
and  laughed  and  laughed,  till  George  and  the  Ancient 
came  to  stare  at  me. 

"  Don't  'ee !  "  cried  the  old  man ;  "  don't  'ee,  Peter  — 
you  be  like  a  corp'  laughin' ;  don't  'ee !  "  But  the  laugh 
still  shook  me  while  I  tore  and  tore  at  the  paper,  and  so 
let  the  pieces  drop  and  flutter  from  my  fingers. 

"  There !  "  said  I,  "  there  goes  a  fool's  dream !  See  how 
it  scatters  —  a  little  here,  a  little  there ;  but,  so  long  as 
this  world  lasts,  these  pieces  shall  never  come  together 
again."  So  saying,  I  set  off  along  the  road,  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  left.  But,  when  I  had  gone  some  distance, 
I  found  that  George  walked  beside  me,  and  he  was  very 
silent  as  he  walked,  and  I  saw  the  trouble  was  back  in  his 
eyes  again. 


462  The  Broad  Highway 

"  George,"  said  I,  stopping,  "  why  do  you  follow  me?  " 

"  I  don't  follow  'ee,  Peter,"  he  answered ;  "  I  be  only 
wishful  to  walk  wi'  you  a  ways." 

"  I  'm  in  no  mood  for  company,  George." 

"  Well,  I  bean't  company,  Peter  —  your  friend,  I  be," 
he  said  doggedly,  and  without  looking  at  me. 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  yes,  my  good  and  trusty  friend." 

"  Peter,"  he  cried  suddenly,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  "  don't  go  back  to  that  theer  ghashly  'Oiler 
to-night  —  " 

"  It  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  for  me  —  to-night, 
George."  And  so  we  went  on  again,  side  by  side,  througli 
the  evening,  and  spoke  no  more  until  we  had  come  to  the 
parting  of  the  ways. 

Down  in  the  Hollow  the  shadows  lay  black  and  heavy, 
and  I  saw  George  shiver  as  he  looked. 

"  Good-by !  "  said  I,  clasping  his  hand ;  "  good-by, 
George !  " 

"  Why  do  'ee  say  good-by  .f*  " 

"  Because  I  am  going  away." 

"  Goin'  away,  Peter  —  but  wheer.''  " 

"  God  knows !  "  I  answered,  "  but,  wherever  it  be,  I  shall 
carry  with  me  the  memory  of  your  kind,  true  heart  —  and 
you,  I  think,  will  remember  me.  It  is  a  blessed  thing, 
George,  to  know  that,  howso  far  we  go,  a  friend's  kind 
thoughts  journey  on  with  us,  untiring  to  the  end." 

"  Oh,  Peter,  man  !    don't  go  for  to  leave  me  —  " 

"  To  part  is  our  human  lot,  George,  and  as  well  now 
as  later  —  good-by !  " 

"  No,  no ! "  he  cried,  throwing  his  arm  about  me,  *'  not 
down  theer  —  it  be  so  deadly  an'  lonely  down  theer  in  the 
darkness.  Come  back  wi'  me  —  just  for  to-night."  But 
I  broke  from  his  detaining  hand,  and  plunged  on  down 
into  the  shadows.  And,  presently,  turning  my  head,  I  saw 
him  yet  standing  where  I  had  left  him,  looming  gigantic 
upon  the  sky  behind,  and  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his 
breast. 

Being  come  at  last  to  the  cottage,  I  paused,  and  from 


Down  into  the  Shadows      463 

that  place  of  shadows  Hfted  my  gaze  to  the  luminous 
heaven,  where  were  a  myriad  eyes  that  seemed  to  watch 
me  with  a  new  meaning,  to-night ;  wherefore  I  entered  the 
cottage  hastily,  and,  closing  the  door,  barred  it  behind  me. 

Then  I  turned  to  peer  up  at  that  which  showed  above 
the  door  —  the  rusty  staple  upon  which  a  man  had  choked 
his  Hfe  out  sixty  and  six  years  ago.  And  I  began,  very 
slowly,  to  loosen  the  belcher  neckerchief  about  my  throat. 

"  Peter !  "  cried  a  voice  —  "  Peter !  "  and  a  hand  was 
beating  upon  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XL 

HOW,   IN    PLACE    OF    DEATH,   I   FOUND    THE    FULNESS    OF 

LIFE 

She  came  in  swiftly,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  found 
and  lighted  a  candle,  and,  setting  it  upon  the  table  be- 
tween us,  put  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak,  and  looked  at 
me,  while  I  stood  mute  before  her,  abashed  by  the  accu- 
sation of  her  eyes. 

"  Coward ! "  she  said,  and,  with  the  word,  snatched 
the  neckerchief  from  my  grasp,  and,  casting  it  upon 
the  floor,  set  her  foot  upon  it.  "  Coward !  "  said  she 
again. 

"  Yes,"  I  muttered ;  "  yes,  I  was  lost  —  in  a  great  dark- 
ness, and  full  of  a  horror  of  coming  nights  and  days, 
and  so  —  I  would  have  run  away  from  it  all  —  like  a 
coward  —  " 

"  Oh,  hateful  —  hateful !  '*  she  cried,  and  covered  her 
face  as  from  some  horror. 

"  Indeed,  you  cannot  despise  me  more  than  I  do  my- 
self," said  I,  "  now,  or  ever ;  I  am  a  failure  in  all  things, 
except,  perhaps,  the  making  of  horseshoes  —  and  this 
world  has  no  place  for  failures  —  and  as  for  horse- 
shoes —  " 

"  Fool,"  she  whispered.  "  Oh,  fool  that  I  dreamed  so 
wise!  Oh,  coward  that  seemed  so  brave  and  strong!  Oh, 
man  that  was  so  gloriously  young  and  unspoiled !  —  that 
it  should  end  here  —  that  it  should  come  to  this."  And, 
though  she  kept  her  face  hidden,  I  knew  that  she  was 
weeping.     "  A  woman's  love  transforms  the  man  till  she 


I  Find  the  Fulness  of  Life      465 

sees  him,  not  as  he  is,  but  as  her  heart  would  have  him 
be ;  the  dross  becomes  pure  gold,  and  she  believes  and 
believes  until  —  one  day  her  heart  breaks  —  " 
"  Charmian  !  —  what  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 
*' Oh,  are  you  still  so  blind?  Must  I  tell  you?  "  she 
cried,  lifting  her  head  proudly.  "  Why  did  I  live  beside 
you  here  in  the  wilderness  ?  Why  did  I  work  for  you  — 
contrive  for  you  —  and  seek  to  make  this  desolation  a 
home  for  you?    Often  my  heart  cried  out  its  secret  to  you 

—  but  you  never  heard ;  often  it  trembled  in  my  voice, 
looked  at  you  from  my  eyes  —  but  you  never  guessed  — 
Oh,  blind  !  blind !  And  you  drove  me  from  you  with  shame- 
ful words  —  but  —  oh !  —  I  came  back  to  you.     And  now 

—  I  know  you  for  but  common  clay,  after  all,  and  —  even 
■yet  —  "  She  stopped,  suddenly,  and  once  more  hid  her 
face  from  me  in  her  hands. 

"  And  —  even  yet,  Charmian  ?  "  I  whispered. 

Very  still  she  stood,  with  her  face  bowed  upon  her  hands, 
but  she  could  not  hide  from  me  the  swift  rise  and  fall  of 
her  bosom. 

"  Speak  —  oh,  Charmian,  speak !  " 

"  I  am  so  weak  —  so  weak !  "  she  whispered ;  "  I  hate 
myself." 

"  Charmian  !"  I  cried  " — oh,  Charmian !"  and  seized  her 
hands,  and,  despite  her  resistance,  drew  her  into  my  arms, 
and,  clasping  her  close,  forced  her  to  look  at  me.  "  And 
even  yet?  —  what  more  —  what  more  —  tell  me."  But, 
lying  back  across  my  arm,  she  held  me  off  with  both 
hands. 

"  Don^t !  "  she  cried :  "  don't  —  you  shame  me  —  let 
me  go." 

"  God  knows  I  am  all  unworthy,  Charmian,  and  so  low 
in  my  abasement  that  to  touch  you  is  presumption,  but  — 
oh,  woman  whom  I  have  loved  from  the  first,  and  shall,  to 
the  end,  have  you  stooped  in  your  infinite  mercy,  to  lift 
me  from  these  depths  —  is  it  a  new  life  you  offer  me  — 
was  it  for  this  you  came  to-night?  " 

"  Let  me  go  —  oh,  Peter !  —  let  me  go." 


466  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Why  —  why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Loose  me !  " 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  To  meet  —  Sir  Maurice  Vibart." 

"To  meet  Sir  Maurice?"  I  repeated  dully  —  "Sir 
Maurice?"  And  in  that  moment  she  broke  from  me,  and 
stood  with  her  head  thrown  back,  and  her  eyes  very  bright, 
as  though  defying  me.  But  I  remained  where  I  was,  my 
arms  hanging. 

"  He  was  to  meet  me  here  —  at  nine  o'clock." 

*'  Oh,  Charmian,"  I  whispered,  "  are  all  women  so  cruel 
as  you,  I  wonder?  "  And,  turning  my  back  upon  her,  I 
leaned  above  the  mantel,  staring  down  at  the  long-dead 
ashes  on  the  hearth. 

But,  standing  there,  I  heard  a  footstep  outside,  and 
swung  round  with  clenched  fists,  yet  Charmian  was  quicker, 
and,  as  the  door  opened  and  Sir  Maurice  entered,  she  was 
between  us. 

He  stood  upon  the  threshold,  dazzled  a  little  by  the 
light,  but  smiling,  graceful,  debonair,  and  point-device 
as  ever.  Indeed,  his  very  presence  seemed  to  make  the 
mean  room  the  meaner  by  contrast,  and,  as  he  bent  to  kiss 
her  hand,  I  became  acutely  conscious  of  my  own  rough 
person,  my  worn  and  shabby  clothes,  and  of  my  hands, 
coarsened  and  grimed  by  labor ;  wherefore  my  frown  grew 
the  blacker  and  I  clenched  my  fists  the  tighter. 

"  I  lost  my  way,  Charmian,"  he  began,  "  but,  though 
late,  I  am  none  the  less  welcome,  I  trust?  Ah?  —  you 
frown.  Cousin  Peter?  Quite  a  ghoulish  spot  this,  at  night 
—  you  probably  find  it  most  congenial,  good  cousin  Timon 
of  Athens  —  indeed,  cousin,  you  are  very  like  Timon  of 
Athens  —  "  And  he  laughed  so  that  I,  finding  my  pipe 
upon  the  mantelshelf,  began  to  turn  it  aimlessly  round  and 
round  in  my  twitching  fingers. 

"You  have  already  met,  then?"  inquired  Charmian, 
glancing  from  one  to  the  other  of  us. 

"  We  had  that  mutual  pleasure  nearly  a  week  ago," 
nodded  Sir  Maurice,  "  when  we  agreed  to  —  disagree,  as 


I  Find  the  Fulness  of  Life      467 

we  always  have  done,  and  shall  do  —  with  the  result  that 
we  find  each  other  agreeably  disagreeable." 

"  I  had  hoped  that  you  might  be  friends." 

*'  My  dear  Charmian  —  I  wonder  at  you !  "  he  sighed, 
"  so  unreasonable.  Would  you  have  us  contravene  the 
established  order  of  things.''  It  was  preordained  that 
Cousin  Peter  should  scowl  at  me  (precisely  as  he  is  doing), 
and  that  I  should  shrug  my  shoulders,  thus,  at  Cousin 
Peter  —  a  little  hate  with,  say,  a  dash  of  contempt,  give 
a  zest  to  that  dish  of  conglomerate  vapidity  which  we  call 
Life,  and  make  it  almost  palatable. 

"  But  I  am  not  here  on  Cousin  Peter's  account,"  he 
went  on,  drawing  a  step  nearer  to  her,  "  at  this  moment 
I  heartily  wish  him  —  among  his  hammers  and  chisels  — 
I  have  come  for  you,  Charmian,  because  I  love  you.  I  have 
sought  you  patiently  until  I  found  you  —  and  I  will  never 
forego  you  so  long  as  life  lasts  —  but  you  know  all  this." 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  this." 

"  I  have  been  very  patient,  Charmian,  submitting  to 
your  whims  and  fancies  —  but,  through  it  all,  I  knew,  and 
in  your  woman's  heart  —  you  knew,  that  you  must  yield 
at  last  —  that  the  chase  must  end  —  some  day  ;  well  —  let 
it  be  to-night —  my  chaise  is  waiting —  " 

*'  When  I  ran  away  from  you,  in  the  storm.  Sir  Maurice, 
I  told  you,  once  and  for  all,  that  I  hated  you.  Have  you 
forgotten?  —  hated  you !  —  always  and  ever !  and  tried  to 
—  kiU  you  —  " 

"  Oh,  Charmian !  I  have  known  such  hate  transfigured 
into  love,  before  now  —  such  love  as  is  only  worth  the 
winning.  And  you  are  mine  —  you  always  were  —  from 
the  first  moment  that  our  eyes  met.  Come,  my  chaise  is 
waiting ;  in  a  few  hours  we  can  be  in  London,  or  Dover  —  " 

"  No  —  never  !  " 

"  Never  is  a  long  time,  Charmian  —  but  I  am  at  your 
service  —  what  is  your  will  ?  " 

"  I  shall  remain  —  here." 

"  Here?     In  the  wilderness.?  " 

"  With  my  —  husband." 


468  The  Broad  Highway 

"Your  — husband?" 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  your  cousin  —  Peter  Vibart." 

The  pipe  slipped  from  my  fingers  and  shivered  to  pieces 
on  the  floor,  and  in  that  same  fraction  of  time  Sir  Maurice 
had  turned  and  leapt  towards  me ;  but  as  he  came  I  struck 
him  twice,  with  left  and  right,  and  he  staggered  backwards 
to  the  wall.  He  stood  for  a  moment,  with  his  head  stooped 
upon  his  hands.  When  he  looked  up  his  face  was  dead 
white,  and  with  a  smear  of  blood  upon  it  that  seemed  to 
accentuate  its  pallor;  but  his  voice  came  smooth  and  un- 
ruffled as  ever. 

"  The  Mind  Feminine  is  given  to  change,"  said  he  softly, 
*'  and  —  I  shall  return  —  yes,  I  shall  come  back.  Smile, 
madam !  Triumph,  cousin !  But  I  shall  come  between  you 
yet  —  I  tell  you,  I  '11  come  between  you  —  living  or  — 
dead!" 

And  so  he  turned,  and  was  gone  —  into  the  shadows. 

But  as  for  me,  I  sat  down,  and,  leaning  my  chin  in  my 
hand,  stared  down  at  the  broken  fragments  of  my  pipe. 

"  Peter?  " 

"  You  are  safe  now,"  said  I,  without  looking  up,  "  he  is 
gone  —  but,  oh,  Charmian !   was  there  no  other  way  —  ?  " 

She  was  down  beside  me  on  her  knees,  had  taken  my 
hand,  rough  and  grimy  as  it  was,  and  pressed  it  to  her 
lips,  and  so  had  drawn  it  about  her  neck,  holding  it  there, 
and  with  her  face  hidden  in  my  breast. 

"  Oh  —  strong  man  that  is  so  weak !  "  she  whispered. 
"  Oh  —  grave  philosopher  that  is  so  foolish !  Oh  —  lonely 
boy  that  is  so  helpless !    Oh,  Peter  Vibart  —  my  Peter !  " 

"  Charmian,"  said  I,  trembling,  "  what  does  it  mean?  " 

"  It  means,  Peter  —  " 

"Yes?" 

"  That  —  the  —  Humble  Person  —  " 

"Yes?" 

*'  Will  —  marry  you  —  whenever  you  will  —  if  —  " 

"Yes?" 

"  If  you  will  —  only  —  ask  her." 


CHAPTER    XLI 

LIGHT    AND    SHADOW 

Now,  as  the  little  Preacher  closed  his  book,  the  sun  rose 
up,  filling  the  world  about  us  with  his  glory. 

And  looking  into  the  eyes  of  my  wife,  it  seemed  that  a 
veil  was  lifted,  for  a  moment,  there,  and  I  read  that  which 
her  lips  might  never  tell;  and  there,  also,  were  joy  and 
shame  and  a  deep  happiness. 

"  See,"  said  the  little  Preacher,  smiling  upon  us,  "  it 
is  day  and  a  very  glorious  one ;  already  a  thousand  little 
choristers  of  God's  great  cathedral  have  begun  to  chant 
your  marriage  hymn.  Go  forth  together,  Man  and  Wife, 
upon  this  great  wide  road  that  we  call  Life;  go  forth 
together,  made  strong  in  Faith,  and  brave  with  Hope, 
and  the  memory  of  Him  who  walked  these  ways  before  you ; 
who  joyed  and  sorrowed  and  suffered  and  endured  all  things 
—  even  as  we  must.  Go  forth  together,  and  may  His 
blessing  abide  with  you,  and  the  '  peace  that  passetl^ 
understanding.'  " 

And  so  we  turned  together,  side  by  side,  and  left  him 
standing  amid  his  roses. 

Silently  we  went  together,  homewards,  through  the  dewy 
morning,  with  a  soft,  green  carpet  underfoot,  and  leafy 
arches  overhead,  where  trees  bent  to  whisper  benedictions, 
and  shook  down  jewels  from  their  dewy  leaves  upon  us  as 
we  passed;  by  merry  brooks  that  laughed  and  chattered, 
and  gurgled  of  love  and  happiness,  while  over  all  rose  the 
swelling  chorus  of  the  birds.  Surely  never  had  they  piped 
so  gladly  in  this  glad  world  before  —  not  even  for  the 
gentle  Spenser,  though  he  says: 


470  The  Broad  Highway 

"  There  was  none  of  them  that  feigned 
To  sing,  for  each  of  them  him  pained  ; 
To  find  out  merry,  crafty  notes 
They  ne  spared  not  their  throats." 

And  being  come,  at  length,  to  the  Hollow,  Charmian 
must  needs  pause  beside  the  pool  among  the  willows,  to 
view  herself  in  the  pellucid  water.  And  in  this  mirror  our 
eyes  met,  and  lo !  of  a  sudden,  her  lashes  drooped,  and 
she  turned  her  head  aside. 

"  Don't,  Peter !  "  she  whispered ;  "  don't  look  at  me  so." 

"  How  may  I  help  it  when  you  are  so  beautiful .''  " 

And,  because  of  my  eyes,  she  would  have  fled  from  me, 
but  I  caught  her  in  my  arms,  and  there,  amid  the  leaves, 
despite  the  jealous  babble  of  the  brook,  for  the  second 
time  in  my  life,  her  lips  met  mine.  And,  gazing  yet  into 
her  eyes,  I  told  her  how,  in  this  shady  bower,  I  had  once 
watched  her  weaving  leaves  into  her  hair,  and  heard  her 
talk  to  her  reflection  —  and  so  —  had  stolen  away,  for 
fear  of  her  beauty. 

"Fear,  Peter.?" 

"  We  were  so  far  out  of  the  world,  and  —  I  longed  to 
kiss  you." 

"  And  did  n't,  Peter." 

"  And  did  n't,  Charmian,  because  we  were  so  very  far 
from  the  world,  and  because  you  were  so  very  much  alone, 
and  —  " 

"  And  because,  Peter,  because  you  are  a  gentle  man  and 
strong,  as  the  old  locket  says.  And  do  you  remember," 
she  went  on  hurriedly,  laying  her  cool,  restraining  fingers 
on  my  eager  lips,  "  how  I  found  you  wearing  that  locket, 
and  how  you  blundered  and  stammered  over  it,  and  pre- 
tended to  read  your  Homer.''  " 

"  And  how  you  sang,  to  prevent  me?  " 

*'  And  how  gravely  you  reproved  me.^*  " 

"  And  how  you  called  me  a  '  creature  '.'*  '* 

"  And  how  you  deserved  it,  sir  —  and  grew  more  help- 
less and  ill  at  ease  than  ever,  and  how  —  just  to  flatter  my 
vanity  —  you  told  me  T  had  '  glorious  hair  '.?  " 


Light  and  Shadow  471 

"  And  so  you  have,"  said  I,  kissing  a  curl  at  her  temple ; 
'*  when  you  unbind  it,  my  Charmian,  it  will  cover  you  — 
like  a  mantle." 

Now  when  I  said  this,  for  some  reason  she  glanced  up 
at  me,  sudden  and  shy,  and  blushed  and  slipped  from  my 
arms,  and  fled  up  the  path  like  a  nymph. 

So  we  presently  entered  the  cottage,  flushed  and  pant- 
ing, and  laughing  for  sheer  happiness.  And  now  she 
rolled  up  her  sleeves,  and  set  about  preparing  breakfast, 
laughing  my  assistance  to  scorn,  but  growing  mightily 
indignant  when  I  would  kiss  her,  yet  blushing  and  yield- 
ing, nevertheless.  And  while  she  bustled  to  and  fro  (keep- 
ing well  out  of  reach  of  my  arm),  she  began  to  sing  in 
her  soft  voice  to  herself: 

" '  In  Scarlet  town,  where  I  was  bom. 
There  was  a  fair  maid  dwellin'. 
Made  every  youth  cry  Well-a-way  I 
Her  name  was  Barbara  Allen.'  " 

"  Oh,  Charmian !  how  wonderful  you  are !  " 

"  '  All  in  the  merry  month  of  May, 

When  green  buds  they  were  swellin'  —  '/* 

"  Surely  no  woman  ever  had  such  beautiful  arms !  so 
round  and  soft  and  white,  Charmian."  She  turned  upon 
me  with  a  fork  held  up  admonishingly,  but,  meeting  my 
look,  her  eyes  wavered,  and  up  from  throat  to  brow  rushed 
H.  wave  of  burning  crimson. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  —  you  make  me  —  almost  —  afraid  of 
you,"  she  whispered,  and  hid  her  face  against  my 
shoulder. 

"  Are  you  content  to  have  married  such  a  very  poor 
man  —  to  be  the  wife  of  a  village  blacksmith?  " 

"  Why,  Peter  —  in  all  the  world  there  never  was  such 
another  blacksmith  as  mine,  and  —  and  —  there !  —  the 
kettle  is  boiling  over  —  " 

"  Let  it !  "  said  I. 

"  And  the  bacon  —  the  bacon  will  burn  —  let  me  go,  and 
—  oh,  Peter !  " 


472  The  Broad  Highway 

So,  in  due  time,  we  sat  down  to  our  solitary  wedding 
breakfast ;  and  there  were  no  eyes  to  speculate  upon  the 
bride's  beauty,  to  note  her  changing  color,  or  the  glory  of 
her  eyes ;  and  no  healths  were  proposed  or  toasts  drunk, 
nor  any  speeches  spoken  —  except,  perhaps  by  my  good 
friend  —  the  brook  outside,  who,  of  course,  understood 
the  situation,  and  babbled  tolerantly  of  us  to  the  listening 
trees,  like  the  grim  old  philosopher  he  was. 

In  this  solitude  we  were  surely  closer  together  and  be- 
longed more  fully  to  each  other,  for  all  her  looks  and 
thoughts  were  mine,  as  mine  were  hers. 

And,  as  we  ate,  sometimes  talking  and  sometimes  laugh- 
ing (though  rarely;  one  seldom  laughs  in  the  wilderness), 
our  hands  would  stray  to  meet  each  other  across  the  table, 
and  eye  would  answer  eye,  while,  in  the  silence,  the  brook 
would  lift  its  voice  to  chuckle  throaty  chuckles  and  out- 
landish witticisms,  such  as  could  only  be  expected  from  an 
old  reprobate  who  had  grown  so  in  years,  and  had  seen  so 
very  much  of  life.  At  such  times  Charmian's  cheeks  would 
flush  and  her  lashes  droop  —  as  though  (indeed)  she  were 
versed  in  the  language  of  brooks. 

So  the  golden  hours  slipped  by,  the  sun  crept  westward, 
and  evening  stole  upon  us. 

"  This  is  a  very  rough  place  for  you,"  said  I,  and  sighed. 

We  were  sitting  on  the  bench  before  the  door,  and  Char- 
mian  had  laid  her  folded  hands  upon  my  shoulder,  and  her 
chin  upon  her  hands.  And  now  she  echoed  my  sigh,  but 
answered  without  stirring : 

"  It  is  the  dearest  place  in  all  the  world." 

"  And  very  lonely !  "  I  pursued. 

"  I  shall  be  busy  all  day  long,  Peter,  and  you  always 
reach  home  as  evening  falls,  and  then  —  then  —  oh !  I 
sha'n't  be  lonely." 

"  But  I  am  such  a  gloomy  fellow  at  the  best  of  times, 
and  very  clumsy,  Charmian,  and  something  of  a  failure." 

"  And  —  my  husband." 

"  Peter !  —  Peter !  —  oh,  Peter !  "  I  started,  and  rose 
to  my  feet. 


Light  and  Shadow  473 

"  Peter !  —  oh,  Peter !  "  called  the  voice  again,  seem- 
ingly from  the  road,  and  now  I  thought  it  sounded  familiar. 

Charmian  stole  her  arms  about  my  neck. 

"  I  think  it  is  Simon,"  said  I  uneasily ;  "  what  can  have 
brought  him?  And  he  will  never  venture  down  into  the 
Hollow  on  account  of  the  ghost;  I  must  go  and  see  what 
he  wants." 

"  Yes,  Peter,"  she  murmured,  but  the  clasp  of  her  arms 
tightened. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  I,  looking  into  her  troubled  eyes. 
"  Charmian,  you  are  trembling!  —  what  is  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  but  oh,  Peter !    I  feel  as  if  a  shadow 

—  a  black  and  awful  shadow  were  creeping  upon  us  — 
hiding  us  from  each  other.  I  am  very  foolish,  are  n't  I?  — 
and  this  our  wedding-day  !  " 

"  Peter !     Pe-ter !  " 

"  Come  with  me,  Charmian ;   let  us  go  together." 

"  No,  I  must  wait  —  it  is  woman's  destiny  —  to  wait 

—  but  I  am  brave  again ;    go  —  see  what  is  wanted." 

I  found  Simon,  sure  enough,  in  the  lane,  seated  in  his 
cart,  and  his  face  looked  squarer  and  grimmer  even  than 
usual. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  said  he,  gripping  my  hand,  "  it  be  come 
at  last  —  Gaffer  be  goin'." 

"  Going,  Simon?  " 

"  Dyin',  Peter.  Fell  downstairs  's  marnin'.  Doctor  says 
'e  can't  last  the  day  out  —  sinkin'  fast,  'e  be,  an'  'e  be  axin' 
for  'ee,  Peter.  *  Wheer  be  Peter  ?  '  says  'e  over  an'  over 
again ;  *  wheer  be  the  Peter  as  I  found  of  a  sunshiny  arter- 
noon,  down  in  th'  'aunted  'Oiler?  '  You  were  n't  at  work 
's  marnin',  Peter,  so  I  be  come  to  fetch  'ee  —  you  '11  come 
back  wi'  me  to  bid  '  good-by  '  to  the  old  man?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  come,  Simon,"  I  answered ;  "  wait  here  for 
me." 

Charmian  was  waiting  for  me  in  the  cottage,  and,  as  she 
looked  up  at  me,  I  saw  the  trouble  was  back  in  her  eyes 
again. 

"  You  must  —  go  —  leave  me  ?  "  she  inquired. 


474  The  Broad  Highway 

"  For  a  little  while." 

"  Yes  —  I  —  I  felt  it,"  she  said,  with  a  pitiful  little 
smile. 

"  The  Ancient  is  dying,"  said  I.  Now,  as  I  spoke,  my 
eyes  encountered  the  staple  above  the  door,  wherefore, 
mounting  upon  a  chair,  I  seized  and  shook  it.  And  lo !  the 
rusty  iron  snapped  off  in  my  fingers  —  like  glass,  and  I 
slipped  it  into  my  pocket. 

"  Oh,  Peter  !  —  don't  go  —  don't  leave  me !  "  cried  Char- 
mian  suddenly,  and  I  saw  that  her  face  was  very  pale,  and 
that  she  trembled. 

"  Charmian  !  "  said  I,  and  sprang  to  her  side.  "  Oh,  my 
love !  —  what  is  it .''  " 

"  It  is  —  as  though  the  shadow  hung  over  us  —  darker 
and  more  threatening,  Peter;  as  if  our  happiness  were 
at  an  end ;  I  seem  to  hear  Maurice's  threat  —  to  come 
between  us  —  living  or  —  dead.  I  am  afraid  !  "  she  whis- 
pered, clinging  to  me,  "  I  am  afraid !  "  But,  all  at  once, 
she  was  calm  again,  and  full  of  self-reproaches,  calling 
herself  "  weak,"  and  "  foolish,"  and  "  hysterical  "  — 
"  though,  indeed,  I  was  never  hysterical  before !  "  —  and 
telling  me  that  I  must  go  —  that  it  was  my  duty  to  go  to 
the  "  gentle,  dying  old  man  "  —  urging  me  to  the  door, 
almost  eagerly,  till,  being  out  of  the  cottage,  she  must 
needs  fall  a-trembling  once  more,  and  wind  her  arms  about 
my  neck,  with  a  great  sob. 

"  But  oh !  —  you  will  come  back  soon  —  very  soon, 
Peter.''  And  we  know  that  nothing  can  ever  come  between 
us  again  —  never  again  —  my  husband."  And,  with 
that  blessed  word,  she  drew  me  down  to  her  lips,  and,  turn- 
ing, fled  into  the  cottage. 

I  went  on  slowly  up  the  path  to  meet  Simon,  and,  as  I 
went,  my  heart  was  heavy,  and  my  mind  full  of  a  strange 
foreboding.  But  I  never  thought  of  the  omen  of  the  knife 
that  had  once  fallen  and  quivered  in  the  floor  between  us. 

"  'T  were  'is  snuff-box  as  done  it !  "  said  Simon,  staring 
very  hard  at  his  horse's  ears,  as  we  jogged  along  the  road. 

'E    were    a-goin'    upstairs    for    it,    an'    slipped,    'e    did. 


a  »i 


Light  and  Shadow  475 


*  Simon,'  says  he,  as  I  lifted  of  'im  in  my  arms,  '  Simon,' 
says  'e,  quiet  like,  '  I  be  done  for  at  last,  lad  —  this  poor 
old  feyther  o'  yourn  '11  never  go  a-climbin'  up  these  stairs 
no  more,'  says  'e  —  '  never  —  no  —  more.'  " 

After  this  Simon  fell  silent,  and  I  likewise,  until  we 
reached  the  village.  Before  "  The  Bull  "  was  a  group  who 
talked  with  hushed  voices  and  grave  faces ;  even  Old  Amos 
grinned  no  more. 

The  old  man  lay  in  his  great  four-post  bed,  propped  up 
with  pillows,  and  with  Prue  beside  him,  to  smooth  his  silver 
hair  with  tender  fingers,  and  Black  George  towering  in  the 
shade  of  the  bed-curtains,  like  a  grieving  giant. 

"  'Ere  I  be,  Peter,"  said  the  old  man,  beckoning  me 
feebly  with  his  hand,  "  'ere  I  be  —  at  the  partin'  o'  the 
ways,  an'  wi'  summ'at  gone  wrong  wi'  my  innards !  When 
a  man  gets  so  old  as  I  be,  'is  innards  be  like  glass,  Peter, 
like  glass  —  an'  apt  to  fly  all  to  pieces  if  'e  goes  a-slippin' 
an'  a-slidin'  downstairs,  like  me." 

"  Are  you  in  pain .''  "  I  asked,  clasping  his  shrivelled 
hand. 

"  Jest  a  twinge,  now  an'  then,  Peter  —  but  —  Lord  I 
that  bean't  nothin'  to  a  man  the  likes  o'  me  —  Peter  —  " 

"  You  always  were  so  hale  and  hearty,"  I  nodded,  giv- 
ing him  the  usual  opening  he  had  waited  for. 

"  Ay,  so  strong  as  a  bull,  that  I  were !  like  a  lion  in  my 
youth  —  Black  Jarge  were  nought  to  me  —  a  cart-'orse  I 
were." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  yes,"  and  stooped  my  head  lower  over 
the  feeble  old  hand. 

"  But  arter  all,  Peter,  bulls'  pass  away,  an'  lions,  an' 
cart-'orses  lose  their  teeth,  an'  gets  wore  out,  for  '  all  flesh 
is  grass  '  —  but  iron  's  iron,  bean't  it,  Peter  —  rusts  it  do, 
but  't  is  iron  all  the  same,  an'  lasts  a  man  out  —  even  such 
a  'earty  chap  as  I  were?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  said  I,  without  looking  up. 

"  An'  I  be  very  old  an'  tired,  Peter ;  my  'eart  be  all 
wore  out  wi'  beatin'  an'  beatin'  all  these  years  —  't  is  a 
wonder  as  it  did  n't  stop  afore  now  —  but  a  —  a  —  stapil, 


476  The  Broad  Highway 

Peter,  don't  'ave  no  'eart  to  go  a-beatin'  an'  a-wearin'  of 
itself  away  ?  " 

"  No,  Ancient." 

"  So  'ere  be  I,  a-standin'  in  the  Valley  o'  the  Shadow, 
an'  waitin'  for  God's  Angel  to  take  my  'and  for  to  show 
me  the  way.  'T  is  a  darksome  road,  Peter,  but  I  bean't 
afeared,  an'  there  be  a  light  beyond  Jordan-water.  No,  I 
are  n't  afeared  to  meet  the  God  as  made  me,  for  '  the  Lord 
is  merciful  —  and  very  kind,'  an'  I  don't  s'pose  as  'E  '11  be 
very  'ard  on  a  old,  old  man  as  did  'is  best,  an'  wi'  a  'eart 
all  tired  an'  wore  away  wi'  beatin'  —  I  be  ready,  Peter  — 
only  —  " 

"  Yes,  Ancient?  " 

"  Oh,  Peter !  —  it  be  that  theer  old  stapil  —  as  '11  go  on 
rustin'  away  an'  rustin'  away  arter  the  old  man  as  watched 
it  so  is  laid  in  the  earth,  an'  forgot  about  —  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  without  looking  up,  but  slipping  my  hand 
into  my  pocket ;    "  no.  Ancient  —  " 

"  Peter  —  Oh,  Peter !  —  do  'ee  mean  — ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  although  it  had  no  heart,  the  staple  was 
tired  and  worn  out  —  just  as  you  are,  and  so  I  brought 
it  to  you,"  and  I  slipped  the  rusty  bit  of  iron  into  the  old 
man's  trembling  palm. 

"  O  Lord  — !  "  he  began  in  a  fervent  voice,  "  O  dear 
Lord !  —  I  got  it.  Lord  —  th'  owd  stapil  —  I  be  ready  to 
come  to  Thee,  an'  j'yful  —  j'yful!  an'  for  this  mercy, 
an'  benefit  received  —  blessed  be  Thy  name.     Amen !  " 

He  lay  very  quiet  for  a  while,  with  the  broken  staple 
clasped  to  his  breast,  and  his  eyes  closed. 

"  Peter,"  said  he  suddenly,  "  you  won't  'ave  no  one  to 
bring  you  noos  no  more  —  why,  Peter  !  be  'ee  cryin'  —  for 
me.''  'T  is  true  't  were  me  as  found  ye,  but  I  did  n't  think 
as  you  'd  go  to  cry  tears  for  me  —  I  be  goin'  to  tak' 
t'  owd  stapil  wi'  me,  Peter,  all  along  the  road  —  an', 
Peter  —  " 

"Yes,  Ancient?" 

"  Be  you  quite  sure  as  you  aren't  a  dook?" 

"  Quite  sure." 


Light  and  Shadow  477 

«  Nor  a  earl?  " 

"  No,  Ancient." 

"  Not  even  a  —  barrjmet?  " 

"  No,  Ancient." 

"  Ah,  well !  —  you  be  a  man,  Peter,  an'  't  is  summ'at  to 
ha'  found  a  man  —  that  it  be." 

And  now  he  feebly  beckoned  us  all  nearer. 

"  Children,"  said  he,  "  I  be  a  old  an'  ancient  man  — 
I  be  goin'  on  —  across  the  river  to  wait  for  you  —  my 
blessin'  on  ye.  It  be  a  dark,  dark  road,  but  I  've  got  t' 
owd  stapil,  an'  there  —  be  a  light  beyond  —  the  river." 

So,  the  Ancient  sighed,  and  crossed  the  dark  River  into 
the  Land  of  Light  Eternal. 


CHAPTER    XLII 

HOW    SIR    MAURICE    KEPT    HIS    WORD 

Night,  with  a  rising  moon,  and  over  all  things  a  great 
quietude,  a  deep,  deep  sileiice.  Air,  close  and  heavy,  with- 
out a  breath  to  wake  the  slumbering  trees ;  an  oppressive 
stillness,  in  which  small  sounds  magnified  themselves,  and 
seemed  disproportionately  loud. 

And  presently,  as  I  went  upon  my  way,  I  forgot  the  old 
man  sleeping  so  peacefully  with  the  rusty  staple  clasped  to 
his  shrunken  breast,  and  thought  only  of  the  proud  woman 
who  had  given  her  hfe  into  my  keeping,  and  who,  hence- 
forth, would  walk  with  me,  hand  in  hand,  upon  this  Broad 
Highway,  over  rough  places,  and  smooth  —  even  unto  the 
end.  So  I  strode  on,  full  of  a  deep  and  abiding  joy,  and 
with  heart  that  throbbed  and  hands  that  trembled  because 
I  knew  that  she  watched  and  waited  for  my  coming. 

A  sound  broke  upon  the  stillness  —  sudden  and  sharp 
—  like  the  snapping  of  a  stick.  I  stopped  and  glanced 
about  me  —  but  it  had  come  and  gone  —  lost  in  the  all- 
pervading  calm. 

And  presently,  reaching  the  leafy  path  that  led  steeply 
down  into  the  Hollow,  I  paused  a  moment  to  look  about 
me  and  to  listen  again ;  but  the  deep  silence  was  all  un- 
broken, save  for  the  slumberous  song  of  the  brook,  that 
stole  up  to  me  from  the  shadows,  and  I  wondered  idly  what 
that  sudden  sound  might  have  been.  So  I  began  tosidescend 
this  leafy  path,  and  went  on  to  meet  that  which  \fiy  waiting 
for  me  in  the  shadows.  ♦• 

It  was  dark  here  among  the  trees,  for  the  moon  was  low 
as  yet,  but,  every  now  and  then,  she  sent  a  kindly   ray 


How  Sir  Maurice  Kept  his  Word     479 

through  some  opening  amid  the  leaves,  so  that  as  I  de- 
scended the  path  I  seemed  to  be  wading  through  small, 
limpid  pools  of  radiance. 

But  all  at  once  I  stopped  —  staring  at  something  which 
lay  at  the  edge  of  one  of  these  pools  —  a  white  claw  —  a 
hand  whose  fingers,  talon-like,  had  sunk  deep  and  em- 
bedded themselves  in  the  turf.  And,  beyond  this  gleaming 
hand,  was  an  arm,  and  beyond  that  again,  something  that 
bulked  across  my  path,  darker  than  the  shadows. 

Running  forward,  I  stood  looking  down  at  that  which 
lay  at  my  feet  —  so  very  still ;  and  stooped  suddenly,  and 
turned  it  over  that  I  might  see  the  face;  and,  seeing  it, 
started  back  in  shuddering  horror.  For,  in  those  feat- 
ures —  hideous  with  blood,  stained  and  blackened  with 
powder,  I  recognized  my  cousin  —  Sir  Maurice  Vibart. 
Then,  remembering  the  stick  that  had  snapped,  I  wondered 
no  more,  but  a  sudden  deadly  faintness  came  upon  me  so 
that  I  leaned  weakly  against  a  tree  near  by. 

A  rustling  of  leaves  —  a  shuddering  breath,  and,  though 
I  did  not  raise  my  head,  I  knew  that  Charmian  was  there. 

"Oh,  Peter!"  she  whispered,  "oh,  Peter!"  and  that 
was  all,  but,  moved  by  something  in  her  tone,  I  glanced  up. 
Her  eyes  were  wide  and  staring  —  not  at  me,  but  at  that 
which  lay  between  us  —  her  face  was  pallid ;  even  her  lips 
had  lost  their  color,  and  she  clasped  one  hand  upon  her 
bosom  —  the  other  was  hidden  in  the  folds  of  her  gown  — 
hidden  as  I  remembered  to  have  seen  it  once  before,  but 
now  it  struck  me  with  a  horrible  significance.  Wherefore  I 
reached  out  and  caught  that  hidden  hand,  and  drew  the 
weapon  from  her  nerveless  fingers,  holding  it  where  the 
light  could  play  upon  it.  She  started,  shivered  violently, 
and  covered  her  eyes,  while  I,  looking  down  at  the  pistol 
in  ray  hand,  saw  that  it  had  lately  been  discharged. 

"  He  ^  IS  kept  his  word !  "  she  whispered ;  "  he  has  kept 
his  word! 

"  Yes,  Cli«rmian  —  he  has  kept  his  word !  " 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  she  moaned,  and  stretched  out  her  hands 
towards  me,  yet  she  kept  her  face  turned  from  that  which 


480  The  Broad  Highway 

lay  across  the  path  between  us,  and  her  hands  were  shak- 
ing pitifully.  "  Peter?  "  she  cried  with  a  sudden  break  in 
her  voice;  but  I  went  on  wiping  the  soot  from  the  pistol- 
barrel  with  the  end  of  my  neckerchief.  Then,  all  at  once, 
she  was  beside  me,  clasping  my  arm,  and  she  was  pleading 
with  me,  her  words  coming  in  a  flood. 

"  No,  Peter,  no  —  oh,  God !  —  you  do  not  think  it  — 
you  can't  —  you  must  n't.  I  was  alone  —  waiting  for  you, 
and  the  hours  passed  —  and  you  did  n't  come  —  and  I  was 
nervous  and  frightened,  and  full  of  awful  fancies.  I 
thought  I  heard  some  one  —  creeping  round  the  cottage. 
Once  I  thought  some  one  peered  in  at  the  lattice,  and  once 
I  thought  some  one  tried  the  door.  And  so  —  because  I 
was  frightened,  Peter,  I  took  that  —  that,  and  held  it  in 
my  hand,  Peter.  And  while  I  sat  there  —  it  seemed  more 
than  ever  —  that  somebody  was  breathing  softly  —  out- 
side the  door.    And  so,  Peter,  I  could  n't  bear  it  any  more 

—  and  opened  the  lattice  —  and  fired  —  in  the  air  —  I 
swear  it  was  in  the  air.  And  I  stood  there  —  at  the  open 
casement  —  sick  with  fear,  and  trying  to  pray  for  you  — 
because  I  knew  he  had  come  back  —  to  kill  you,  Peter,  and, 
while  I  prayed,  I  heard  another  shot  —  not  close,  but 
faint  —  hke  the  snapping  of  a  twig,  Peter  —  and  I  ran  out 

—  and  —  oh,  Peter !  —  that  is  all  —  but  you  believe  — 
oh !  —  you  believe,  don't  you,  Peter.''  " 

While  she  spoke,  I  had  slipped  the  pistol  into  my 
pocket,  and  now  I  held  out  my  hands  to  her,  and  drew  her 
near,  and  gazed  into  the  troubled  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"  Charmian !  "  said  I,  "  Charmian  —  I  love  you !  and 
God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  doubt  you  any  more." 

So,  with  a  sigh,  she  sank  in  my  embrace,  her  arms  crept 
about  my  neck,  and  our  lips  met,  and  clung  together.  But 
even  then  —  while  I  looked  upon  her  beauty,  while  the 
contact  of  her  lips  thrilled  through  me  —  even  then,  in 
my  mind,  I  saw  the  murderous  pistol  in  her  hand  —  as  I 
had  seen  it  months  ago.  Indeed,  it  almost  seemed  that  she 
divined  my  thought,  for  she  drew  swiftly  back,  and  looked 
up  at  me  with  haggard  eyes. 


How  Sir  Maurice  Kept  his  Word     481 

"  Peter  ?  "  she  whispered,  "  what  is  it  —  what  is  it  ?  " 
"  Oh,  Charmian !  "  said  I,  over  and  over  again,  "  I  love 
you  —  I  love  you."  And  I  kissed  her  appealing  eyes,  and 
stayed  her  questioning  lips  with  my  kisses.  "  I  love  you 
more  than  my  life  —  more  than  honor  —  more  than  my 
soul ;  and,  because  I  so  love  you  —  to-night  you  must 
leave  me  —  " 

"  Leave  you?  —  ah  no,  Peter  —  no  —  no,  I  am  your  wife 

—  I  must  stay  with  you  —  to  suffer  and  share  your 
troubles  and  dangers  —  it  is  my  right  —  my  privilege. 
Let  us  go  away  together,  now  —  anywhere  —  anywhere, 
only  let  us  be  together  —  my  —  husband." 

"  Don't !  "  I  cried,  "  don't !  Do  you  think  it  is  so  easy 
to  remain  here  without  you  —  to  lose  you  so  soon  —  so 
very  soon  ?  If  I  only  loved  you  a  little  less !  Ah !  don't 
you  see  —  before  the  week  is  out,  my  description  will  be  all 
over  England;  we  should  be  caught,  and  you  would  have 
to  stand  beside  me  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  face  the  shame 
of  it— " 

"  Dear  love !  —  it  would  be  my  pride  —  my  pride,  Peter, 
to  face  them  all  —  to  clasp  this  dear  hand  in  mine  —  " 

"Never!"  I  cried,  clenching  my  fists;  "never!  You 
must  leave  me;  no  one  must  know  Charmian  Brown  ever 
existed  —  you  must  go !  " 

"  Hush !  "  she  whispered,  clasping  me  tighter,  "  listen 

—  some  one  is  coming!  "  Away  to  the  right,  we  could  hear 
the  leaves  rustling,  as  though  a  strong  wind  passed 
through  them ;  a  light  flickered,  went  out,  flickered  again, 
and  a  voice  hailed  faintly: 

"Hallo!" 

"  Come,"  said  Charmian,  clasping  my  hand,  "  let  us  go 
and  meet  him." 

"  No,  Charmian,  no  —  I  must  see  this  man  —  alone. 
You  must  leave  here,  to-night  —  now.  You  can  catch  the 
London  Mail  at  the  cross  roads.  Go  to  Blackheath  —  to 
Sir  Richard  Anstruther  —  he  is  my  friend  —  tell  him 
everything  —  " 

She  was  down  at  my  feet,  and  had  caught  my  hand  to 
her  bosom. 


482  The  Broad  Highway 

"  I  can't !  "  she  cried,  "  I  can't  go  —  and  leave  you  here 
alone.  I  have  loved  you  so  —  from  the  very  first,  and  it 
seems  that  each  day  my  love  has  grown  until  it  is  part  of 
me.  Oh,  Peter !  —  don't  send  me  away  from  you  —  it  will 
kill  me,  I  think  —  " 

"  Better  that  than  the  shame  of  a  prison !  "  I  exclaimed, 
and,  while  I  spoke,  I  lifted  her  in  my  arms.  "  Oh !  —  I  am 
proud  —  proud  to  have  won  such  a  love  as  yours  —  let 
me  try  to  be  worthy  of  it.  Good-by,  my  beloved !  "  and  so 
I  kissed  her,  and  would  have  turned  away,  but  her  arms 
clung  about  me. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  she  sobbed,  "  if  you  must  go  —  if  you 
will  go,  call  me  —  your  wife  —  just  once,  Peter." 

The  hovering  light  was  much  nearer  now,  and  the  rustle 
of  leaves  louder,  as  I  stooped  above  her  cold  hands,  and 
kissed  their  trembling  fingers. 

"  Some  day,"  said  I,  "  some  day,  if  there  is  a  just  God 
in  heaven,  we  shall  meet  again ;  perhaps  soon,  perhaps 
late.  Until  then,  let  us  dream  of  that  glorious,  golden 
some  day,  but  now  —  farewell,  oh,  beloved  wife !  " 

With  a  broken  cry,  she  drew  my  head  down  upon  her 
breast,  and  clasped  it  there,  while  her  tears  mingled  with 
her  kisses,  and  so  —  crying  my  name,  she  turned,  and  was 
lost  among  the  leaves. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

HOW    I    SET    OUT    TO    FACE    MY    DESTINY 

The  pallid  moon  shone  down  pitilessly  upon  the  dead, 
white  face  that  stared  up  at  me  through  its  grime  and 
blood,  with  the  same  half-tolerant,  half-amused  contempt 
of  me  that  it  had  worn  in  life;  the  drawn  lips  seemed  to 
mock  me,  and  the  clenched  fists  to  defy  me  still ;  so  that 
I  shivered,  and  turned  to  watch  the  oncoming  light  that 
danced  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  among  the  shadows.  Pres- 
ently it  stopped,  and  a  voice  hailed  once  more: 

"  Hallo !  " 

"  Hallo !  "  I  called  back ;  "  this  way  —  this  way  !  "  In 
a  little  while  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  whom  I  at  once 
recognized  as  the  one-time  Postilion,  bearing  the  lanthorn 
of  a  chaise,  and,  as  he  approached,  it  struck  me  that  this 
meeting  was  very  much  like  our  first,  save  for  him  who 
lay  in  the  shadows,  staring  up  at  me  with  unwinking 
eyes. 

"  So  ho !  "  exclauned  the  Postilion  as  he  came  up,  rais- 
ing his  lanthorn  that  he  might  view  me  the  better ;  "  it 's 
you  again,  is  it.''  " 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it,"  he  grumbled,  "  a-meeting  of 
each  other  again  like  this,  in  this  'ere  ghashly  place  —  no, 
I  don't  like  it  —  too  much  like  last  time  to  be  nat'ral,  and, 
as  you  know,  I  can't  abide  onnat'ralness.  If  I  was  to  ax 
you  where  my  master  was,  like  as  not  you  'd  tell  me  'e 
was  —  " 

"  Here ! "  said  I,  and,  moving  aside,  pointed  to  the 
shadow. 


484  The  Broad  Highway 

The  Postilion  stepped  nearer,  lowering  his  lanthom, 
then  staggered  blindly  backward. 

"  Lord !  "  he  whimpered,  "  Lord  love  me !  "  and  stood, 
staring,  with  dropped  jaw. 

"Where  is  your  chaise.''" 

"  Up  yonder  —  yonder  —  in  the  lane,"  he  mumbled, 
his  eyes  still  fixed. 

"  Then  help  me  to  carry  him  there." 

"  No,  no  —  I  durs  n't  touch  it  —  I  can't  —  not  me  — 
not  me !  " 

"  I  think  you  will,"  said  I,  and  took  the  pistol  from  my 
pocket. 

"Ain't  one  enough  for  to-night.?  "  he  muttered;  "put 
it  away  —  I  '11  come  —  I  '11  do  it  —  put  it  away."  So  I 
dropped  the  weapon  back  into  my  pocket  while  the  Pos- 
tilion, shivering  violently,  stooped  with  me  above  the  in- 
animate figure,  and,  with  our  limp  burden  between  us,  we 
staggered  and  stumbled  up  the  path,  and  along  the  lane  to 
where  stood  a  light  traveling  chaise. 

"  'E  ain't  likely  to  come  to  this  time,  I  'm  thinkin' !  " 
said  the  Postilion,  mopping  the  sweat  from  his  brow  and 
grinning  with  pallid  lips,  after  we  had  got  our  burden  into 
the  vehicle ;  "  no,  'e  ain't  likely  to  wake  up  no  more,  nor 
yet  *  curse  my  'ead  off  '  —  this  side  o'  Jordan." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  beginning  to  unwind  my  neckcloth. 

"  Nor  it  ain't  no  good  to  go  a-bandagin'  and  a-bindin' 
of  'im  up  —  like  you  did  last  time." 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  no."  And  stepping  into  the  chaise, 
I  muffled  that  disfigured  face  in  my  neckcloth;  having 
done  which,  I  closed  the  door. 

"  What  now.'*  "  inquired  the  Postilion. 

"  Now  you  can  drive  us  to  Cranbrook." 

"  What  —  be  you  a-comin'  too?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded ;   "  yes,  I  am  coming  too." 

"  Lord  love  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  a  moment  later 
I  heard  him  chirruping  to  his  horses ;  the  whip  cracked 
and  the  chaise  lurched  forward.  Whether  he  had  some 
wild   notion  that   I  might   attempt  to   descend  and  make 


How  I  Set  out  to  Face  my  Destiny  485 

my  escape  before  we  reached  our  destination,  I  cannot 
say,  but  he  drove  at  a  furious  pace,  taking  corners  at  reck- 
less speed,  so  that  the  chaise  lurched  and  swayed  most 
violently,  and,  more  than  once,  I  was  compelled  to  hold  that 
awful  figure  down  upon  the  seat  before  me,  lest  it  should 
slide  to  the  floor.  On  we  sped,  past  hedge  and  tree,  by 
field  and  lonely  wood.  And  ever  in  my  ears  was  the  whir 
of  the  wheels,  the  drumming  of  hoofs,  and  the  crack  of 
the  whip;  and  ever  the  flitting  moonbeams  danced  across 
that  muffled  face  until  it  seemed  that  the  features  writhed 
and  gibed  at  me,  beneath  the  folds  of  the  neckerchief. 

And  so  at  last  came  lights  and  houses,  and  the  sound  of 
excited  voices  as  we  pulled  up  before  the  Posting  House  at 
Cranbrook.  Looking  from  the  window,  I  saw  a  ring  of 
faces  with  eyes  that  gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  lanthoms, 
and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  me,  and  every  foot  gave  back 
a  step  as  I  descended  from  the  chaise.  And,  while  I  stood 
there,  the  Postilion  came  with  two  white-faced  ostlers,  who, 
between  them,  bore  a  heavy  burden  through  the  crowd, 
stumbling  awkwardly  as  they  went ;  and,  as  men  saw  that 
which  they  carried,  there  came  a  low,  deep  sound  —  word- 
less, inarticulate,  yet  full  of  menace.  But,  above  this 
murmur  rose  a  voice,  and  I  saw  the  Postilion  push  his  way 
to  the  steps  of  the  inn,  and  turn  there,  with  hands  clenched 
and  raised  above  his  head. 

"  My  master  —  Sir  Maurice  Vibart  —  is  killed  —  shot 
to  death  —  murdered  down  there  in  the  'aunted  'Oiler !  " 
he  cried,  "  and,  if  you  axes  me  who  done  it,  I  says  to  you 
—  *e  did  —  so  'elp  me  God !  "  and  speaking,  he  raised  his 
whip  and  pointed  at  me. 

Once  more  there  rose  that  inarticulate  sound  of  menace, 
and  once  more  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me. 

"  'E  were  a  fine  gen 'man !  "  said  a  voice. 

"  Ah !  so  gay  an'  light- 'earted !  "  said  another. 

"  Ay,  ay  —  a  generous,  open-'anded  gen'man  !  "  said  a 
third. 

And  every  moment  the  murmur  swelled,  and  grew  more 
threatening;  fists  were  clenched,  and  sticks  flourished,  so 


486  The  Broad  Highway 

that,  instinctively,  I  set  my  back  against  the  chaise,  for 
it  seemed  they  lacked  only  some  one  to  take  the  initiative 
ere  they  fell  upon  me. 

The  Postilion  saw  this  too,  for,  with  a  shout,  he  sprang 
forward,  his  whip  upraised.  But,  as  he  did  so,  the  crowd 
was  burst  asunder,  he  was  caught  by  a  mighty  arm,  and 
Black  George  stood  beside  me,  his  eyes  glowing,  his  fists 
clenched,  and  his  hair  and  beard  bristling. 

"  Stand  back,  you  chaps,"  he  growled,  "  stand  back  — 
or  I  '11  'urt  some  on  ye ;  be  ye  all  a  lot  o'  dogs  to  set  on  an' 
worry  one  as  is  all  alone?  "  And  then,  turning  to  me, 
"  What  be  the  matter  wi'  the  fools,  Peter?  " 

"  Matter?  "  cried  the  Postilion;  "  murder  be  the  matter 
—  my  master  be  murdered  —  shot  to  death  —  an'  there 
stands  the  man  as  done  it !  " 

"  Murder?  "  cried  George,  in  an  altered  voice ;  "  mur- 
der? "  Now,  as  he  spoke,  the  crowd  parted,  and  four 
ostlers  appeared,  bearing  a  hurdle  between  them,  and  on 
the  hurdle  lay  a  figure,  an  elegant  figure  whose  head  and 
face  were  still  muffled  in  my  neckerchief.  I  saw  George 
start,  and,  like  a  flash,  his  glance  came  round  to  my  bare 
throat,  and  dismay  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  Peter ?  "  he  murmured;  then  he  laughed  suddenly 

and  clapped  his  hand  down  upon  my  shoulder.  "  Look  'ee, 
you  chaps,"  he  cried,  facing  the  crowd,  "  this  is  my  friend 
Peter  —  an  honest  man  an'  no  murderer,  as  'e  will  tell  ye 
'isself  —  this  is  my  friend  as  I  'd  go  bail  for  wi'  my  life  to 
be  a  true  man  ;  speak  up,  Peter,  an'  tell  'em  as  you  'm  an 
honest  man  an'  no  murderer."    But  I  shook  my  head. 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "  he  whispered,  "  speak!  speak !  " 

"  Not  here,  George,"  I  answered ;  "  it  would  be  of  no 
avail  —  besides,  I  can  say  nothing  to  clear  myself." 

"  Nothin',  Peter?  " 

"  Nothing,  George.  This  man  was  shot  and  killed  in  the 
Hollow  —  I  found  him  lying  dead  —  I  found  the  empty 
pistol,  and  the  Postilion,  yonder,  found  me  standing  over 
the  body.     That  is  all  I  have  to  tell." 

"  P^ter,"  said  he,  speaking  hurriedly  beneath  his  breath, 


How  I  Set  out  to  Face  my  Destiny  487 

"oh,  Peter!  —  let's  run  for  it  —  'twould  be  main  easy 
for  the  likes  o'  you  an'  me  —  " 

"  No,  George,"  I  answered ;  "  it  would  be  worse  than 
useless.  But  one  thing  I  do  ask  of  you  —  you  who  know 
me  so  much  better  than  most  —  and  it  is,  that  you  will  bid 
me  good-by,  and  —  take  my  hand  once  more,  George  — 
here  before  all  these  eyes  that  look  upon  me  as  a  murderer, 
and  —  " 

Before  I  had  finished  he  had  my  hand  in  both  of  his  — 
nay,  had  thrown  one  great  arm  protectingly  about  me. 

"  Why,  Peter  — "  he  began,  in  a  strangely  cracked 
voice,  "  oh !  man  as  I  love !  —  never  think  as  I  'd  believe 
their  lies,  an'  —  Peter  —  such  fighters  as  you  an'  me !  — 
a  match  for  double  their  number  —  let 's  make  a  bolt  for 
it  —  ecod !  I  want  to  hit  somebody.  Never  doubt  me, 
Peter  —  your  friend  —  an'  they  'd  go  over  like  skittles  — 
like  skittles,  Peter  —  " 

The  crowd,  which  had  swelled  momentarily,  surged, 
opened,  and  a  man  on  horseback  pushed  his  way  towards 
me,  a  man  in  some  disorder  of  dress,  as  though  he  had 
clothed  himself  in  a  hurry. 

Rough  hands  were  now  laid  upon  me;  I  saw  George's 
fist  raised  threateningly,  but  caught  it  in  my  grasp. 

"  Good-by,"  said  I,  "  good-by,  George,  and  don't  look  so 
downcast,  man."  But  we  were  forced  apart,  and  I  was 
pushed  and  pulled  and  hustled  away,  through  a  crowd  of 
faces  whose  eyes  damned  me  wherever  I  looked,  along  pan- 
elled passage  ways,  and  into  a  long,  dim  room,  where  sat 
the  gentleman  I  had  seen  on  the  horse,  busily  tying  his 
cravat,  to  whom  I  delivered  up  the  pistol,  and  answered 
divers  questions  as  well  as  I  might,  and  by  whom,  after 
much  jotting  of  notes  and  memoranda,  I  was  delivered  over 
to  four  burly  fellows,  who,  with  deep  gravity,  and  a  grip 
much  tighter  than  was  necessary,  once  more  led  me  out  into 
the  moonlit  street,  where  were  people  who  pressed  forward 
to  stare  into  my  face,  and  people  who  leaned  out  of  win- 
dows to  stare  down  upon  my  head,  and  many  more  who 
followed  at  my  heels. 


488  The  Broad  Highway 

And  thus,  in  much  estate,  I  ascended  a  flight  of  worn 
stone  steps  into  the  churchyard,  and  so  —  by  a  way  of 
tombs  and  graves  —  came  at  last  to  the  great  square 
church-tower,  into  which  I  was  incontinently  thrust,  and 
there  very  securely  locked  up. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE    BOW    8TEEET    RUNNERS 

It  was  toward  evening  of  the  next  day  that  the  door  of 
my  prison  was  opened,  and  two  men  entered.  The  first  was 
a  tall,  cadaverous-looking  individual  of  a  melancholy  cast 
of  feature,  who,  despite  the  season,  was  wrapped  in  a  long 
frieze  coat  reaching  almost  to  his  heels,  from  the  pocket  of 
which  projected  a  short  staff,  or  truncheon.  He  came  for- 
ward with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  bony  chin  on 
his  breast,  looking  at  me  under  the  brim  of  a  somewhat 
weather-beaten  hat  —  that  is  to  say,  he  looked  at  my  feet 
and  my  hands  and  my  throat  and  my  chin,  but  never  seemed 
to  get  any  higher. 

His  companion,  on  the  contrary,  bustled  forward,  and, 
tapping  me  familiarly  on  the  shoulder,  looked  me  over  with 
a  bright,  appraising  eye. 

"  S'elp  me,  Jeremy !  "  said  he,  addressing  his  saturnine 
friend,  "  s'elp  me,  if  I  ever  see  a  pore  misfort'nate  cove 
more  to  my  mind  an'  fancy  —  nice  an'  tall  an'  straight- 
legged  —  twelve  stone  if  a  pound  —  a  five-foot  drop  now 
—  or  say  five  foot  six,  an'  'e  '11  go  oif  as  sweet  as  a  bird ; 
ah !  you  '11  never  feel  it,  my  covey  —  not  a  twinge ;  a  leetle 
tightish  round  the  windpipe,  p'r'aps  —  but,  Lord,  it 's  soon 
over.  You  're  lookin'  a  bit  pale  round  the  gills,  young 
cove,  but,  Lord !  that 's  only  nat'ral  too."  Here  he  pro- 
duced from  the  depths  of  a  capacious  pocket  something  that 
glittered  beneath  his  agile  fingers.  "  And  'ow  might  be 
your  general  'ealth,  young  cove?  "  he  went  on  affably, 
"  bobbish,  I  'ope  —  fair  an'  bobbish.''  "     As  he  spoke,  with 


490  The  Broad  Highway 

a  sudden,  dexterous  motion,  he  had  snapped  something  upon 
my  wrists,  so  quickly  that,  at  the  contact  of  the  cold  steel, 
I  started,  and  as  I  did  so,  something  jingled  faintly. 

"  There !  "  he  exclaimed,  clapping  me  on  the  shoulder 
again,  but  at  the  same  time  casting  a  sharp  glance  at  my 
shackled  wrists  —  "  there  —  now  we  're  all  'appy  an'  com- 
fortable !  I  see  as  you  're  a  cove  as  takes  things  nice  an' 
quiet,  an'  —  so  long  as  you  do  —  I  'm  your  friend  — 
Bob  's  my  name,  an'  bobbish  is  my  natur'.  Lord !  —  the 
way  I  've  seen  misfort'nate  coves  take  on  at  sight  o'  them 
'  bracelets  '  is  something  out-rageous !  But  you  —  why, 
you  're  a  different  kidney  —  you  're  my  kind,  you  are  — 
what  do  you  say,  Jeremy?  " 

"  Don't  like  'is  eye !  "  growled  that  individual. 

"  Don't  mind  Jeremy,"  winked  the  other ;  "  it 's  just  'is 
per-werseness.  Lord !  'e  is  the  per-wersest  codger  you  ever 
see!  Why,  'e  finds  fault  wi'  the  Pope  o'  Rome,  jest 
because  'e  's  in  the  'abit  o'  lettin'  coves  kiss  'is  toe  —  I  've 
'eard  Jeremy  work  'isself  up  over  the  Pope  an'  a  pint  o' 
porter,  till  you  'd  'ave  thought  —  " 

"  Ain't  we  never  a-goin'  to  start?  "  inquired  Jeremy, 
staring  out  of  the  window,  with  his  back  to  us. 

"  And  where,"  said  I,  "  where  might  you  be  taking 
me?  " 

"  Why,  since  you  ax,  my  covey,  we  'm  a-takin'  you 
where  you  '11  be  took  good  care  on,  where  you  '11  feed  well, 
and  'ave  justice  done  on  you  —  trust  us  for  that.  Though, 
to  be  sure,  I  'm  sorry  to  take  you  from  such  proper 
quarters  as  these  'ere  —  nice  and  airy  —  eh,  Jeremy  ?  " 

"  Ah !  —  an'  wi'  a  fine  view  o'  the  graves !  "  growled  Jer- 
emy, leading  the  way  out. 

In  the  street  stood  a  chaise  and  four,  surrounded  by  a 
pushing,  jostling  throng  of  men,  women,  and  children,  who, 
catching  sight  of  me  between  the  Bow  Street  Runners, 
forgot  to  push  and  jostle,  and  stared  at  nic  with  every  eye 
and  tooth  they  possessed,  until  I  was  hidden  in  the  chaise. 

"  Right  away !  "  growled  Jeremy,  shutting  the  door  with 
a  bang. 


The  Bow  Street  Runners       491 

"  Whoa !  "  roared  a  voice,  and  a  great,  shaggy  golden 
head  was  thrust  in  at  the  window,  and  a  hand  reached  down 
and  grasped  mine. 

"  A  pipe  an'  'baccy,  Peter  —  from  me ;  a  flask  o'  rum  — 
Simon's  best,  from  Simon ;  an'  chicken  sang-widges,  from 
my  Prue."  This  as  he  passed  in  each  article  through  the 
window.  "  An'  I  were  to  say,  Peter,  as  we  are  all  wi' 
you  —  ever  an'  ever,  an'  I  were  likewise  to  tell  'ee  as  'ow 
Prue  '11  pray  for  'ee  oftener  than  before,  an'  —  ecod !  "  he 
broke  off,  the  tears  running  down  his  face,  "  there  were  a 
lot  more,  but  I  've  forgot  it  all,  only,  Peter,  me  an'  Simon 
be  goin'  to  get  a  lawyer  chap  for  'ee,  an'  —  oh,  man,  Peter, 
say  the  word,  an'  I  '11  have  'ee  out  o'  this  in  a  twinklin'  — 
an'  we  '11  run  for  it  —  " 

But,  even  as  I  shook  my  head,  the  postboy's  whip 
cracked,  and  the  horses  plunged  forward. 

"  Good-by,  George !  "  I  cried,  "  good-by,  dear  fellow !  " 
and  the  last  I  saw  of  him  was  as  he  stood  rubbing  his  tears 
away  with  one  fist  and  shaking  the  other  after  the  chaise. 


CHAPTER    XLV 

WHICH    CONCERNS    ITSELF,    AMONG    OTHER    MATTERS,    WITH 
THE    BOOTS    OF    THE   SATURNINE    JEREMY 

"  A  BOTTLE  o'  rum !  "  said  the  man  Bob,  and  taking  it  up, 
very  abstracted  of  eye,  he  removed  the  cork,  sniffed  at  it, 
tasted  it,  took  a  gulp,  and  handed  it  over  to  his  companion, 
who  also  looked  at,  sniffed  at,  and  tasted  it.  "  And  what 
d'  ye  make  o'  that,  Jeremy  ?  " 

"  Tasted  better  afore  now ! "  growled  Jeremy,  and  im- 
mediately took  another  pull. 

"  Sang-widges,  too !  "  pursued  the  man  Bob,  in  a  rumi- 
nating tone,  "  an'  I  always  was  partial  to  chicken !  '*  and, 
forthwith,  opening  the  dainty  parcel,  he  helped  himself, 
and  his  companion  also. 

"What  d'ye  make  o'  them,  Jeremy.?"  he  inquired, 
munching. 

"  I  've  eat  wuss  !  "  rumbled  Jeremy,  also  munching. 

"  Young  cove,  they  does  you  credit,"  said  the  man  Bob, 
nodding  to  me  with  great  urbanity,  "  great  credit  —  there 
ain't  many  misfort'nates  as  can  per-jooce  such  sang-widges 
as  them,  though,  to  be  sure,  they  eats  uncommon  quick  — 
'old  'ard  there,  Jeremy  —  "  But,  indeed,  the  sandwiches 
were  already  only  a  memory,  wherefore  his  brow  grew 
black,  and  he  glared  at  the  still  munching  Jeremy,  who  met 
his  looks  with  his  usual  impenetrable  gloom. 

"  A  pipe  and  'bacca !  "  mused  the  man  Bob,  after  we 
had  ridden  some  while  in  silence,  and,  with  the  same  serene 
unconsciousness  of  manner,  he  took  the  pipe,  filled  it,  lighted 
it,  and  puffed  with  an  air  of  dreamy  content. 


The  Boots  of  Saturnine  Jeremy     493 

"  Jeremy  is  a  good-ish  sort,"  he  began,  with  a  compla- 
cent flourish  of  the  pipe,  "  a  good-ish  sort,  but  cross- 
grained  —  Lord !  young  cove,  'is  cross-grainedness  is 
ekalled  only  by  'is  per-werseness,  and  'cause  why?  —  'cause 
'e  don't  smoke —  (go  easy  wi'  the  rum,  Jeremy!)  there's 
nothin'  like  a  pipe  o'  'bacca  to  soothe  such  things  away  — 
(I  got  my  eye  on  ye,  Jeremy!)  — no,  there  's  nothin'  like 
a  pipe  o'  'bacca.  Look  at  me  —  I  were  the  per-wersest 
infant  that  ever  was,  till  I  took  to  smokin',  and  to-day, 
whatever  I  am,  I  ain't  per-werse,  nor  yet  cross-grained,  and 
many  a  misfort'nate  cove,  as  is  now  no  more  —  'as  wept 
over  me  at  partin'  —  " 

"  They  generally  always  do !  "  growled  Jeremy,  uncork- 
ing the  rum-bottle  with  his  teeth. 

"  No,  Jerry,  no,"  returned  the  other,  blowing  out  a  cloud 
of  smoke;  "  misfort'nates  ain't  all  the  same —  (arter  you 
wi'  that  bottle !)  —  you  'ave  Cryers,  and  Laughers,  and 
Pray-ers,  and  Silent  Ones,  and  the  silent  coves  is  the  dan- 
gerousest — (arter  you  wi'  the  bottle,  Jeremy!) — now 
you,  my  covey,"  he  went  on,  tapping  my  hand  gently  with 
his  pipe-stem,  "  you  ain't  exactly  talkative,  in  fact  —  not 
wishin'  no  oflPense,  I  might  say  as  you  was  inclined  to  be  one 
o'  the  Silent  Ones.  Not  as  I  'olds  that  again'  you  —  far 
from  it,  only  you  reminds  me  of  a  young  cove  as  'ad  the 
misfort'n  to  get  'isself  took  for  forgery,  and  who  —  arter 
me  a-talkin'  and  a-chattin'  to  'im  in  my  pleasant  way  — 
went  and  managed  to  commit  sooicide  —  under  my  very 
nose  —  which  were  'ardly  nice,  or  even  respectable,  con- 
siderin'  —  (arter  you  wi'  the  bottle,  Jeremy !)" 

Jeremy  growled,  held  up  the  bottle  to  the  failing  light  of 
evening,  measured  its  contents  with  his  thumb,  and  extended 
it  unwillingly  towards  his  comrade's  ready  hand ;  but  it 
never  got  there,  for,  at  that  instant,  the  chaise  lurched 
violently  —  there  was  a  cry,  a  splintering  of  glass,  a  crash, 
and  I  was  lying,  half  stunned,  in  a  ditch,  listening  to  the 
chorus  of  oaths  and  cries  that  rose  from  the  cloud  of  dust 
where  the  frightened  horses  reared  and  plunged. 

How  long  I  remained  thus  I  cannot  say,  but,  all  at  once. 


494  The  Broad  Highway 

I  found  myself  upon  my  feet,  running  down  the  road,  for, 
hazy  though  my  mind  yet  was,  I  could  think  only  of  escape, 
of  liberty,  and  freedom  —  at  any  price  —  at  any  cost.  So 
I  ran  on  down  the  road,  somewhat  unsteadily  as  yet,  be- 
cause my  fall  had  been  a  heavy  one,  and  my  brain  still 
reeled.  I  heard  a  shout  behind  me  —  the  sharp  crack  of  a 
pistol,  and  a  bullet  sang  over  my  head;  and  then  I  knew 
they  were  after  me,  for  I  could  hear  the  patter  of  their 
feet  upon  the  hard  road. 

Now,  as  I  ran,  my  brain  cleared,  but  this  only  served  me 
to  appreciate  the  difficulty  of  eluding  men  so  seasoned  and 
hardy  as  my  pursuers ;  morover,  the  handcuffs  galled  my 
wrists,  and  the  short  connecting  chain  hampered  my  move- 
ments considerably,  and  I  saw  that,  upon  this  straight  level, 
I  must  soon  be  run  down,  or  shot  from  behind. 

Glancing  back,  I  beheld  them  some  hundred  yards,  or  so, 
away,  elbows  in,  heads  up,  running  with  that  long,  free 
stride  that  speaks  of  endurance.  I  increased  the  pace,  the 
ground  flew  beneath  me,  but,  when  I  glanced  again,  though 
the  man  Bob  had  dropped  back,  the  saturnine  Jeremy  ran 
on,  no  nearer,  but  no  farther  than  before. 

Now,  as  I  went,  I  presently  espied  that  for  which  I  had 
looked  —  a  gate  set  in  the  midst  of  the  hedge,  but  it  was 
closed,  and  never  did  a  gate,  before  or  since,  appear  quite 
so  high  and  insurmountable ;  but,  with  the  desperation  of 
despair,  I  turned,  ran  at  it,  and  sprang,  swinging  my  arms 
above  my  head  as  I  did  so.  My  foot  grazed  the  top  bar  — 
down  I  came,  slipped,  stumbled,  regained  my  balance,  and 
ran  on  over  the  springy  turf.  I  heard  a  crash  behind  me, 
an  oath,  a  second  pistol  barked,  and  immediately  it  seemed 
that  a  hot  iron  seared  my  foreann,  and  glancing  down,  I 
saw  the  skin  cut  and  bleeding,  but,  finding  it  no  worse, 
breathed  a  sigh  of  thankfulness,  and  ran  on. 

By  that  leap  I  had  probably  gained  some  twenty  yards ; 
1  would  nurse  my  strength,  therefore.  If  I  could  once  gain 
the  woods  !  How  far  off  were  they .''  —  half-a-mile,  a  mile  ? 
—  well,  I  could  run  that  easily,  thanks  to  my  hardy  life. 
Stay !   what  was  that  sound  behind  me  —  the  fall  of  flying 


The  Boots  of  Saturnine  Jeremy      495 

feet,  or  the  throbbing  of  my  own  heart?  I  turned  my  head  ; 
the  man  Jeremy  was  within  twelve  yards  of  me  —  lean  and 
spare,  his  head  thrust  forward,  he  ran  with  the  long,  easy 
stride  of  a  greyhound. 

So  it  was  to  be  a  question  of  endurance?  Well,  I  had 
caught  my  second  wind  by  now.  I  set  my  teeth,  and, 
clenching  my  fists,  lengthened  my  stride. 

And  now,  indeed,  the  real  struggle  began.  My  pursuer 
had  long  ago  abandoned  liis  coat,  but  his  boots  were  heavier 
and  clumsier  than  those  I  wore ;  but  then,  again,  my  con- 
fining shackles  seemed  to  contract  my  chest ;  and  the  hand- 
cuffs galled  my  wrists  cruelly. 

On  I  went,  scattering  flocks  of  scampering  sheep,  past 
meditative  cows  who  started  up,  puffing  out  snorts  of  per- 
fume; scrambling  through  hedges,  over  gate  and  stile  and 
ditch,  with  eyes  upon  the  distant  woods  full  of  the  purple 
gloom  of  evening,  and,  in  my  ears,  the  muffled  thud ! 
thud !  thud !  thud !  of  the  pursuit,  sometimes  seeming  much 
nearer,  and  sometimes  much  farther  off,  but  ah.  ays  the 
same  rhythmic,  remorseless  thud !  thud !    thud !    thud  ! 

On,  and  ever  on,  climbing  steep  uplands,  plunging  down 
precipitous  slopes,  past  brawling  brooks  and  silent  pools 
all  red  and  gold  with  sunset,  past  oak  and  ash  and  thorn  — 
on  and  on,  with  ever  those  thudding  footfalls  close  behind. 
And,  as  we  ran,  it  seemed  to  me  that  our  feet  beat  out  a 
kind  of  cadence  —  his  heavy  shoes,  and  my  lighter  ones. 

Thud !  thud !  —  pad !  pad !  —  thud !  thud !  —  pad !  pad  ! 
until  they  would  suddenly  become  confused,  and  mingle 
with  each  other. 

One  moment  it  seemed  that  I  almost  loved  the  fellow, 
and  the  next  that  I  bitterly  hated  him.  Whether  I  had 
gained  or  not,  I  could  not  tell :  to  look  back  was  to  lose 
ground. 

The  woods  were  close  now,  so  close  that  I  fancied  I 
heard  the  voice  of  their  myriad  leaves  calling  to  me  — 
encouraging  me.  But  my  breath  was  panting  thick  and 
short,  my  stride  was  less  sure,  my  wrists  were  raw  and 
bleeding,  and  the  ceaseless  jingle  of  my  chain  maddened  me. 


49  6  The  Broad  Highway 

Thud !  —  thud !  —  untiring,  persistent  —  thud !  —  thud ! 
—  the  pulse  at  my  temples  throbbed  in  time  with  it,  my 
breath  panted  to  it.  And  surely  it  was  nearer,  more  dis- 
tinct —  yes,  he  had  gained  on  me  in  the  last  half-mile  — 
but  how  much  ?  I  cast  a  look  over  my  shoulder ;  it  was  but 
a  glance,  yet  I  saw  that  he  had  lessened  the  distance 
between  us  by  half.  His  face  shone  with  sweat  —  his  mouth 
was  a  line  —  his  nostrils  broad  and  expanded  —  his  eyes 
staring  and  shot  with  blood,  but  he  ran  on  with  the  same  long 
easy  stride  that  was  slowly  but  surely  wearing  me  down. 

We  were  descending  a  long,  grassy  slope,  and  I  stumbled, 
more  than  once,  and  rolled  in  my  course,  but  on  came  those 
remorseless  footfalls  —  thud !  —  thud !  —  thud !  —  thud !  — 
strong  and  sure  as  ever. 

He  was  nearing  me  fast  —  he  was  close  upon  me  — 
closer  —  within  reach  of  me.  I  could  hear  his  whistling 
breaths,  and  then,  all  at  once,  I  was  down  on  hands  and 
knees ;  he  tried  to  avoid  me  —  failed,  and,  shooting  high 
over  me,  thudded  down  upon  the  grass. 

For  a  moment  he  lay  still,  then,  with  a  groan,  he  rolled 
over,  and  propping  himself  on  his  arm,  thrust  a  hand  into 
his  bosom ;  but  I  hurled  myself  upon  him,  and,  after  a  brief 
struggle,  twisted  the  pistol  from  his  grasp,  whereupon  he 
groaned  again. 

"Hurt?"  I  panted. 

"  Arm  broke,  I  think,"  he  growled,  and  forthwith  burst 
out  into  a  torrent  of  curses. 

"  Does  it  —  hurt  —  so  much.'*  "  I  panted. 

"  Ah !  but  it  —  ain't  that,"  he  panted  back ;  "  it 's  me  — 
a-lettin'  of  you  —  work  off  a  mouldy  —  old  trick  on  me  — 
like  —  that  there  —  " 

"  It  was  my  only  chance,"  said  I,  sitting  down  beside 
him  to  regain  my  wind. 

"  To  think,"  he  growled,  "  o'  me  bein'  took  in  by  a  —  " 

"  But  you  are  a  great  runner !  "  said  I. 

*■'  A  great  fool,  you  mean,  to  be  took  in  by  a  —  " 

"  You  have  a  long  walk  back,  and  your  arm  will  be 
painful  —  " 


The  Boots  of  Saturnine  Jeremy      497 

*'  And  serve  me  right  for  bein'  took  in  by  —  " 

"  If  you  will  lend  me  your  neckerchief,  I  think  I  can 
make  your  arm  more  comfortable,"  said  I.  He  ceased 
cursing  to  stare  at  me,  slowly  and  awkwardly  unwound  the 
article  in  question,  and  passed  it  to  me.  Thereupon,  having 
located  the  fracture,  I  contrived  a  rough  splint  with  a 
piece  of  wood  lying  near;  which  done,  he  thanked  me,  in 
a  burst  of  profanity,  and  rose. 

"  I  've  see  worse  coves  nor  you !  "  said  he,  "  and  one 
good  turn  desarvin*  another  —  lie  snug  all  day,  and  travel 
by  night,  and  keep  to  the  byroads  —  this  ain't  no  common 
case,  there  '11  be  a  thousand  pound  on  your  'ead  afore  the 
week  's  out  —  so  look  spry,  ray  cove !  "  saying  which,  he 
nodded,  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  strode  away,  cursing  to 
himself. 

Now,  presently,  as  I  went,  I  heard  the  merry  ring  and 
clink  of  hammer  and  anvil,  and,  guided  by  the  sound, 
came  to  a  tumbledown  smithy  where  was  a  man  busily  at 
work,  with  a  shock-headed  boy  at  the  bellows.  At  sight 
of  me,  the  smith  set  down  his  hammer  and  stared  open- 
mouthed,  as  did  also  the  shock-headed  boy. 

"  How  long  would  it  take  you  to  file  off  these  shackles?  " 
I  inquired,  holding  out  my  hands. 

"To  — to  file  'em  off?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  that  —  that  depends  —  " 

"  Then  do  it  —  as  soon  as  you  can."  Upon  this,  the 
man  turned  his  back  to  me  and  began  rummaging  among 
his  tools,  with  his  head  very  near  that  of  the  shock-headed 
boy,  until,  having  found  a  file  suitable  to  the  purpose,  he 
set  to  work  upon  my  handcuffs.  But  he  progressed  so 
slowly,  for  one  reason  and  another,  that  I  began  to  grow 
impatient ;  moreover,  noticing  that  the  shock-headed  boy 
had  disappeared,  I  bade  him  desist. 

"  A  cold  chisel  and  hammer  will  be  quickest,"  said  I ; 
"  come,  cut  me  off  this  chain  —  here,  close  up  to  the 
rivets."  And,  when  he  had  done  this,  I  took  his  file,  and 
thrusting  it  beneath  my  coat,  set  off,  running  my  hardest, 


49 8  The  Broad  Highway 

leaving  him  to  stare  after  me,  with  his  eyes  and  mouth 
wider  than  ever. 

The  sun  was  down  when  I  reached  the  woods,  and  here, 
in  the  kind  shadows,  I  stayed  awhile  to  rest,  and  rid  myself 
of  my  handcuffs ;  but,  when  I  felt  for  the  file  to  do  so  —  it 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XLVI 

HOW    I    CAME    TO    LONDON 

JusTJLY  to  narrate  all  that  befell  me  during  my  flight  and 
journey  to  London,  would  fill  many  pages,  and  therefore, 
as  this  book  of  mine  is  already  of  a  magnitude  far  beyond 
my  first  expectations,  I  shall  hurry  on  to  the  end  of  my 
story. 

Acting  upon  the  advice  of  the  saturnine  Jeremy,  I  lay 
hidden  by  day,  and  traveled  by  night,  avoiding  the  high- 
way. But  in  so  doing  I  became  so  often  involved  in  the 
maze  of  cross-roads,  bylanes,  cow-paths,  and  cart-tracks, 
that  twice  the  dawn  found  me  as  completely  lost  as  though 
I  had  been  set  down  in  the  midst  of  the  Sahara.  I  thus 
wasted  much  time,  and  wandered  many  miles  out  of  my 
way;  wherefore,  to  put  an  end  to  these  futile  ramblings,  I 
set  my  face  westward,  hoping  to  strike  the  highroad  some- 
where between  Tonbridge  and  Sevenoaks  ;  determined  rather 
to  run  the  extra  chance  of  capture  than  follow  haphazard 
these  tortuous  and  interminable  byways. 

It  was,  then,  upon  the  third  night  since  my  escape  that, 
faint  and  spent  with  hunger,  I  saw  before  me  the  welcome 
sight  of  a  finger-post,  and  hurrying  forward,  eager  to  learn 
ray  whereabouts,  came  full  upon  a  man  who  sat  beneath 
the  finger-post,  with  a  hunch  of  bread  and  meat  upon  his 
knee,  which  he  was  eating  by  means  of  a  clasp-knife. 

Now  I  had  tasted  nothing  save  two  apples  all  day,  and 
but  little  the  day  before  —  thus,  at  sight  of  this  appe- 
tizing food,  my  hunger  grew,  and  increased  to  a  violent 
desire  before  which  prudence  vanished  and  caution  flew 
away.  Therefore  I  approached  the  man,  with  my  eyes 
upon  his  bread  and  meat. 


500  The  Broad  Highway 

But,  as  I  drew  nearer,  my  attention  was  attracted  by 
something  white  that  was  nailed  up  against  the  finger-post, 
and  I  stopped  dead,  with  my  eyes  riveted  by  a  word 
printed  in  great  black  capitals,  and  stood  oblivious  alike  of 
the  man  who  had  stopped  eating  to  stare  at  me,  and  the 
bread  and  meat  that  he  had  set  down  upon  the  grass ;  for 
what  I  saw  was  this : 

G.  R. 

MURDER 
£500 REWARD 

Whereas,  PETER  SMITH,  blacksmith,  late  of 
SISSINGHURST,  in  the  county  of  Kent,  suspected 
of  the  crime  of  WILFUL  MURDER,  did,  upon  the 
Tenth  of  August  last,  make  his  escape  from  his 
gaolers,  upon  the  Tonbridge  road,  somewhere 
between  SISSINGHURST  and  PEMBRY;  the 
above  REWARD,  namely,  FIVE  HUNDRED 
POUNDS,  will  be  paid  to  such  person,  or  persons 
who  shall  give  such  INFORMATION  as  shall  lead 
to  the  ARREST,  and  APPREHENSION  of  the 
aforesaid  PETER  SMITH.  In  the  furtherance  of 
which,  is  hereunto  added  a  just  and  close  description 
of  the  same  —  VIZ.  —  He  is  six  foot  tall,  and  a  siz- 
able ROGUE.  His  hair,  black,  his  eyes  dark  and 
piercing.  Clad,  when  last  seen,  in  a  worn  velveteen 
jacket,  knee-breeches  buckled  at  the  knees,  gray 
worsted  stockings,  and  patched  shoes.  The  coat 
TORN  at  the  RIGHT  shoulder.  Upon  his  wrists. 
a  pair  of  steel  HANDCUFFS.  Last  seen  in  the 
vicinity  of  PEMBRY. 

While  I  yet  stared  at  this,  I  was  conscious  that  the  man 
had  risen,  and  now  stood  at  my  elbow;  also,  that  in  one 
hand  he  carried  a  short,  heavy  stick.  He  stood  very  still, 
and  with  bent  head,  apparently  absorbed  in  the  printed 
words  before  him,  but  more  than  once  I  saw  his  eyes  gleam 
in  the  shadow  of  his  hat-brim,  as  they  turned  to  scan  me 
furtively  up  and  down.  Yet  he  did  not  speak  or  move,  and 
there  was  something  threatening,  I  thought,  in  his  immo- 
bility. Wherefore  I,  in  turn,  watched  him  narrowly  from 
the  corner  of  my  eye,  and  thus  it  chanced  that  our  glances 
met. 


How  I  Came  to  London       501 

"You  seem  thoughtful?  "  said  I. 

"Ah!  — I  be  that." 

"  And  what  might  you  be  thinking?  " 

"  Why  —  since  you  ax  me,  I  was  thinkin'  as  your  eye 
was  mighty  sharp  and  piercin'." 

"  Ah!  "  said  I ;  "  and  what  more?  " 

"  That  your  coat  was  tore  at  the  shoulder." 

"So  it  is,"  I  nodded;  "well?" 

"  You  likewise  wears  buckled  breeches,  and  gray  worsted 
stockings." 

"  You  are  a  very  observant  man !  "  said  I. 

"  Though,  to  be  sure,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "  I 
don't  see  no  'andcuffs." 

"  That  is  because  they  are  hidden  under  my  sleeves." 

"  A — h — h !  "  said  he,  and  I  saw  the  stick  quiver  in  his 
grip. 

"  As  I  said  before,  you  are  a  very  observant  man !  " 
said  I,  watching  the  stick. 

"  Well,  I  've  got  eyes,  and  can  see  as  much  as  most 
folk,"  he  retorted,  and  here  the  stick  quivered  again. 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded ;  "  you  also  possess  legs,  and  can  prob- 
ably walk  fast  ?  " 

*'  Ah!  —  and  run,  too,  if  need  be,"  he  added  significantly. 

"  Then  suppose  you  start." 

"  Start  where?  " 

"  Anywhere,  so  long  as  you  do  start." 

"  Not  wi'out  you,  my  buck !  I  've  took  a  powerful  fancy 
to  you,  and  that  there  five  hundred  pounds  " —  here  his 
left  hand  shot  out  and  grasped  my  collar  —  "so  — 
s'posin'  you  come  along  o'  me.  And  no  tricks,  mind  —  no 
tricks,  or  —  ah!  —  would  ye?"  The  heavy  stick  whirled 
up,  but,  quick  as  he,  I  had  caught  his  wrist,  and  now 
presented  my  pistol  full  in  his  face. 

"  Drop  that  stick !  "  said  I,  pressing  the  muzzle  of  the 
weapon  lightly  against  his  forehead  as  I  spoke.  At  the 
touch  of  the  cold  steel  his  body  suddenly  stiffened  and  grew 
rigid,  his  eyes  opened  in  a  horrified  stare,  and  the  stick 
clattered  down  on  the  road. 

**  Talking  of  fancies,"  I  pursued,  "  I  have  a  great  mind 


502  The  Broad  Highway 

to  that  smock-frock  of  yours,  so  take  it  off,  and  quick 
about  it." 

In  a  fever  of  haste  he  tore  off  the  garment  in  question, 
and,  he  thrusting  it  eagerly  upon  me,  I  folded  it  over  my 
arm. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  since  you  say  you  can  run,  supposing 
you  show  me  what  you  can  do.  This  is  a  good  straight 
lane  —  off  with  you  and  do  your  best,  and  no  turning  or 
stopping,  mind,  for  the  moon  is  very  bright,  and  I  am  a 
pretty  good  shot."  Hardly  waiting  to  hear  me  out,  the 
fellow  set  off  up  the  lane,  running  like  the  wind ;  whereupon, 
I  (waiting  only  to  snatch  up  his  forgotten  bread  and 
meat)  took  to  my  heels  —  down  the  lane,  so  that,  when  I 
presently  stopped  to  don  the  smock-frock,  its  late  possessor 
had  vanished  as  though  he  had  never  been. 

I  hurried  on,  nevertheless,  eating  greedily  as  I  went,  and, 
after  some  while,  left  the  narrow  lane  behind,  and  came  out 
on  the  broad  highway  that  stretched  like  a  great,  white 
riband,  unrolled  beneath  the  moon.  And  here  was  another 
finger-post  with  the  words : 

"  To  Sevenoaks,  Tonbridge,  and  the  Wells. —  To  Bromley 
and  London." 

And  here,  also,  was  another  placard,  headed  by  that 
awful  word :  MURDER  —  which  seemed  to  leap  out  at  me 
from  the  rest.  And,  with  that  word,  there  rushed  over 
me  the  memory  of  Charmian  as  I  had  seen  her  stand  — 
white-lipped,  haggard  of  eye,  and  —  with  one  hand  hidden 
in  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

So  I  turned  and  strove  to  flee  from  this  hideous  word, 
and,  as  I  went,  I  clenched  my  fists  and  cried  within  myself: 
"  I  love  her  —  love  her  —  no  doubt  can  come  between  us 
more  —  I  love  her  —  love  her  —  love  her !  "  Thus  I  hurried 
on  along  the  great  highroad,  but,  wherever  I  looked,  I 
saw  this  most  hateful  word;  it  shone  out  palely  from  the 
shadows ;  it  was  scored  into  the  dust  at  my  feet ;  even 
across  the  splendor  of  the  moon,  in  jagged  characters,  I 
seemed  to  read  that  awful  word:    MURDER. 


How  I  Came  to  London       503 

And  the  soft  night-wind  woke  voices  to  whisper  it  as  I 
passed;  the  somber  trees  and  gloomy  hedgerows  were  full 
of  it;  I  heard  it  in  the  echo  of  my  step  —  MURDER! 
MURDER!  It  was  always  there,  whether  I  walked  or 
ran,  in  rough  and  stony  places,  in  the  deep,  soft  dust,  in 
the  dewy,  tender  grass  —  it  was  always  there,  whispering 
at  my  heels,  and  refusing  to  be  silenced. 

I  had  gone  on,  in  this  way,  for  an  hour  or  more,  avoiding 
the  middle  of  the  road,  because  of  the  brilliance  of  the 
moon,  when  I  overtook  something  that  crawled  in  the  gloom 
of  the  hedge,  and  approaching,  pistol  in  hand,  saw  that 
it  was  a  man. 

He  was  creeping  forward  slowly  and  painfully  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  but,  all  at  once,  sank  down  on  his  face 
in  the  grass,  only  to  rise,  groaning,  and  creep  on  once 
more ;  and,  as  he  went,  I  heard  him  praying : 

"  Lord,  give  me  strength  —  O  Lord,  give  me  strength. 
Angela !  Angela !  It  is  so  far  —  so  far  —  "  And  groan- 
ing, he  sank  down  again,  upon  his  face. 

"  You  are  ill !  "  said  I,  bending  over  him. 

*'  I  must  reach  Deptford  —  she  's  buried  at  Deptford, 
and  I  shall  die  to-night  —  O  Lord,  give  me  strength ! "  he 
panted. 

"  Deptford  is  miles  away,"  said  I. 

Now,  as  I  spoke,  he  lifted  himself  upon  his  hands  and 
stared  up  at  me.  I  saw  a  haggard,  hairy  face,  very  thin 
and  sunken,  but  a  fire  burned  in  the  eyes,  and  the  eyes 
seemed,  somehow,  familiar. 

"  You !  "  he  cried,  and  spat  up  in  the  air  towards  me ;  • 
"  devil !  "  he  cried,  "  Devil  Vibart."    I  recoiled  instinctively 
before  the  man's  sudden,  wild  ferocity,  but,  propping  him- 
self  against   the   bank,   he   shook   his   hand   at   me,    and 
laughed. 

"  Devil !  "  he  repeated ;  "  shade !  —  ghost  of  a  devil !  — 
have  you  come  back  to  see  me  die?  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  cried,  bending  to  look  into  the  pale, 
emaciated  face ;  "  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  shadow,"  he  answered,  passing  a  shaking  hand  up 


504  The  Broad  Highway 

over  his  face  and  brow,  "  a  ghost  —  a  phantom  —  as  you 
are;  but  my  name  was  Strickland  once,  as  yours  was 
Devil  Vibart.  I  am  changed  of  late  —  you  said  so  in  the 
Hollow,  and  —  laughed.  You  don't  laugh  now,  Devil  Vi- 
bart, you  remember  poor  John  Strickland  now." 

"  You  are  the  Outside  Passenger !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  the 
madman  who  followed  and  shot  at  me  in  a  wood  —  " 

"  Followed  ?  Yes,  I  was  a  shadow  that  was  always 
behind  you  —  following  and  following  you,  Satan  Vibart, 
tracking  and  tracking  you  to  hell  and  damnation.  And 
you  fled  here,  and  you  fled  there,  but  I  was  always  behind 
you ;  you  hid  from  me  among  lowly  folk,  but  you  could 
not  escape  the  shadow.  Many  times  I  would  have  killed 
you  —  but  she  was  between  —  the  Woman.  I  came  once 
to  your  cottage ;  it  was  night,  and  the  door  opened  beneath 
my  hand  —  but  your  time  was  not  then.  But  —  ha !  —  I 
met  you  among  trees,  as  I  did  once  before,  and  I  told 
you  ray  name  —  as  I  did  once  before,  and  I  spoke  of  her 

—  of  Angela,  and  cried  her  name  —  and  shot  you  —  just 
here,  above  the  brow;  and  so  you  died,  Devil  Vibart,  as 
soon  I  must,  for  my  mission  is  accomplished  —  " 

"  It  was  you !  "  I  cried,  kneeling  beside  him,  "  it  was 
your  hand  that  shot  Sir  Maurice  Vibart.''  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  his  voice  growing  very  gentle  as 
he  went  on,  "  for  Angela's  sake  —  my  dead  wife,"  and, 
fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he  drew  out  a  woman's  small,  lace- 
edged  handkerchief,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  thickened  and 
black  with  blood.  "  This  was  hers,"  he  continued,  "  in  her 
hand,  the  night  she  died  —  I  had  meant  to  lay  it  on  her 
grave  —  the  blood  of  atonement  —  but  now  —  " 

A  sudden  crash  in  the  hedge  above;  a  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  sky ;  a  shadowy  arm,  that,  falling,  struck  the 
moon  out  of  heaven,  and,  in  the  darkness,  I  was  down  upon 
my  knees,  and  fingers  were  upon  my  throat. 

"  Oh,  Darby !  "  cried  a  voice,  "  I  've  got  him  —  this  way 

—  quick  —  oh,  Darb —  "  My  fist  drove  into  his  ribs ; 
I  struggled  up  under  a  rain  of  blows,  and  we  struck  and 
swayed  and  staggered  and  struck  —  trampling  the  groan- 


How  I  Came  to  London       505 

ing  wretch  who  lay  dying  in  the  ditch.  And  before  me  was 
the  pale  oval  of  a  face,  and  I  smote  it  twice  with  my  pistol- 
butt,  and  it  was  gone,  and  I  —  was  running  along  the  road. 

"  Charmian  spoke  truth !  O  God,  I  thank  thee !  " 

I  burst  through  a  hedge,  running  on,  and  on  —  careless 
alike  of  being  seen,  of  capture  or  escape,  of  prison  or  free- 
dom, for  in  my  heart  was  a  great  joy. 

I  was  conscious  of  shouts  and  cries,  but  I  heeded  them 
no  more,  hstening  only  to  the  song  of  happiness  my  heart 
was  singing: 

"  Charmian  spoke  truth,  her  hands  are  clean.  O  God, 
I  thank  thee !  " 

And,  as  I  went,  I  presently  espied  a  caravan,  and  before 
it  a  fire  of  sticks,  above  which  a  man  was  bending,  who, 
raising  his  head,  stared  at  me  as  I  approached.  He  was  a 
strange-looking  man,  who  glared  at  me  with  one  eye  and 
leered  jocosely  with  the  other;  and,  being  spent  and  short 
of  breath,  I  stopped,  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  my  eyes 
I  saw  that  it  was  blood. 

"  How  —  is  Lewis  ?  "  I  panted. 

"  What,"  exclaimed  the  man,  drawing  nearer,  "  is  it 
you?  —  James!  but  you're  a  picter,  you  are  —  hallo!" 
he  stopped,  as  his  glance  encountered  the  steel  that  glit- 
tered upon  my  wrist;  while  upon  the  silence  the  shouts 
swelled,  drawing  near  and  nearer. 

"  So  —  the  Runners  is  arter  you,  are  they,  young 
feller.?  » 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  yes.  You  have  only  to  cry  out,  and 
they  will  take  me,  for  I  can  fight  no  more,  nor  run  any 
farther ;  this  knock  on  the  head  has  made  me  very  dizzy." 

"  Then  —  take  a  pull  at  this  'ere,"  said  he,  and  thrust 
a  flat  bottle  into  my  hand.  The  fiery  spirit  burned  my 
throat,  but  almost  immediately  my  strength  and  courage 
revived. 

"  Better.?  " 

"  Much  better,"  I  answered,  returning  the  bottle,  "  and 
I  thank  you  —  " 

"  Don't  go   for  to   thank   me,  young  feller,"   said  he, 


5o6  The  Broad  Highway 

driving  the  cork  into  the  bottle  with  a  blow  of  his  fist, 
"  you  thank  that  young  feller  as  once  done  as  much  for 
me  —  at  a  Fair.  An'  now  —  cut  away  —  run !  —  the  'edge 
is  good  and  dark,  up  yonder  —  lay  low  a  bit,  and  leave 
these  damned  Runners  to  me."  I  obeyed  without  more  ado, 
and,  as  I  raji  up  the  lane,  I  heard  him  shouting  and 
swearing  as  though  engaged  in  a  desperate  encounter; 
and,  turning  in  the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  I  saw  him  met  by 
two  men,  with  whom,  still  shouting  and  gesticulating  exci- 
tedly, he  set  ojff ,  running  —  down  the  lane. 

And  so  I,  once  more,  turned  my  face  London-wards. 

The  blood  still  flowed  from  the  cut  in  my  head,  getting 
often  into  my  eyes,  yet  I  made  good  progress  notwith- 
standing. But,  little  by  little,  the  effect  of  the  spirits 
wore  off,  a  drowsiness  stole  over  me,  my  limbs  felt  numbed 
and  heavy.  And  with  this  came  strange  fancies  and  a 
dread  of  the  dark.  Sometimes  it  seemed  that  odd  lights 
danced  before  my  eyes,  like  marsh-fires,  and  strange  voices 
gabbled  in  my  ears,  furiously  unintelligible,  with  laughter 
in  a  high-pitched  key ;  sometimes  I  cast  myself  down  in 
the  dewy  grass,  only  to  start  up  again,  trembling,  and  run 
on  till  I  was  breathless ;  but  ever  I  struggled  forward, 
despite  the  throbbing  of  my  broken  head,  and  the  gnawing 
hunger  that  consumed  me. 

After  a  while,  a  mist  came  on,  a  mist  that  formed  itself 
into  deep  valleys,  or  rose  in  jagged  spires  and  pinnacles, 
but  constantly  changing;  a  mist  that  moved  and  writhed 
within  itself.  And  in  this  mist  were  forms,  nebulous  and 
indistinct,  multitudes  that  moved  in  time  with  me,  and  the 
voices  seemed  louder  than  before,  and  the  laughter  much 
shriller,  while  repeated  over  and  over  again,  I  caught  that 
awful  word:  MURDER,  MURDER. 

Chief  among  this  host  walked  one  whose  head  and  face 
were  mufiled  from  my  sight,  but  who  watched  me,  I  knew, 
through  the  folds,  with  eyes  that  stared  fixed  and  wide. 

But  now,  indeed,  the  mist  seemed  to  have  got  into  my 
brain,  and  all  things  were  hazy,  and  my  memory  of  them 
is  dim.     Yet  I  recall  passing  Bromley  village,  and  slinking 


How  I  Came  to  London      507 

furtively  through  the  shadows  of  the  deserted  High  Street, 
but  thereafter  all  is  blank  save  a  memory  of  pain  and  toil 
and  deadly  fatigue, 

I  was  stumbling  up  steps  —  the  steps  of  a  terrace ;  a 
great  house  lay  before  me,  with  lighted  windows  here  and 
there,  but  these  I  feared,  and  so  came  creeping  to  one  that 
I  knew  well,  and  whose  dark  panes  glittered  palely  under 
the  dying  moon.  And  now  I  took  out  my  clasp-knife,  and, 
fumbling  blindly,  put  back  the  catch  (as  I  had  often  done 
as  a  boy),  and  so,  the  window  opening,  I  clambered  into 
the  dimness  beyond. 

Now  as  I  stumbled  forward  my  hand  touched  some- 
thing, a  long,  dark  object  that  was  covered  with  a  cloth, 
and,  hardly  knowing  what  I  did,  I  drew  back  this  cloth 
and  looked  down  at  that  which  it  had  covered,  and  sank 
down  upon  my  knees,  groaning.  For  there,  staring  up  at 
me,  cold,  contemptuous,  and  set  like  marble,  was  the 
smiling,  dead  face  of  my  cousin  Maurice. 

As  I  knelt  there,  I  was  conscious  that  the  door  had 
opened,  that  some  one  approached,  bearing  a  light,  but  I 
did  not  move  or  heed. 

"  Peter .''  —  good  God  in  heaven !  —  is  it  Peter  ?  "  I 
looked  up  and  into  the  dilated  eyes  of  Sir  Richard.  "  Is 
it  really  Peter.''  "  he  whispered. 

"  Yes,  sir  —  dying,  I  think." 

"  No,  no  —  Peter  —  dear  boy,"  he  stammered.  "  You 
did  n't  know  —  you  had  n't  heard  —  poor  Maurice  —  mur- 
dered —  fellow  —  name  of  Smith  —  !  " 

"  Yes,  Sir  Richard,  I  know  more  about  it  than  most. 
You  see,  I  am  Peter  Smith."  Sir  Richard  fell  back  from 
me,  and  I  saw  the  candle  swaying  in  his  grasp. 

"You?"  he  whispered,  "you.''  Oh,  Peter!  —  oh,  my 
boy !  " 

"  But  I  am  innocent  —  innocent  —  you  believe  me  — 
you  who  were  my  earliest  friend  —  my  good,  kind  friend  — 
you  believe  me.^*  "  and  I  stretched  out  my  hands  appeal- 
ingly,  but,  as  I  did  so,  the  light  fell  gleaming  upon  my 
shameful  wristlets ;  and,  even  as  we  gazed  into  each  other's 


5o8  The  Broad  Highway 

eyes,  mute  and  breathless,  came  the  sound  of  steps  and 
hushed  voices.  Sir  Richard  sprang  forward,  and,  catching 
me  in  a  powerful  hand,  half  led,  half  dragged  me  behind  a 
tall  leather  screen  beside  the  hearth,  and  thrusting  me  into 
a  chair,  turned  and  hurried  to  meet  the  intruders. 

They  were  three,  as  I  soon  discovered  by  their  voices, 
one  of  which  I  thought  I  recognized. 

"  It 's  a  devilish  shame !  "  the  first  was  saying ;  "  not  a 
soul  here  for  the  funeral  but  our  four  selves  —  I  say  it 's 
a  shame  —  a  burning  shame !  " 

"  That,  sir,  depends  entirely  on  the  point  of  view," 
answered  the  second,  a  somewhat  aggressive  voice,  and 
this  it  was  I  seemed  to  recognize. 

"  Point  of  view,  sir?  Where,  I  should  like  to  know,  are 
all  those  smiling  nonentities  —  those  fawning  sycophants 
who  were  once  so  proud  of  his  patronage,  who  openly 
modelled  themselves  upon  him,  whose  highest  ambition  was 
to  be  called  a  friend  of  the  famous  '  Buck '  Vibart  — 
where  are  they  now?  " 

"  Doing  the  same  by  the  present  favorite,  as  is  the 
nature  of  their  kind,"  responded  the  third ;  "  poor  Maurice 
is  already  forgotten." 

"  The  Prince,"  said  the  harsh  voice,  "  the  Prince  would 
never  have  forgiven  him  for  crossing  him  in  the  affair  of 
the  Lady  Sophia  Sefton ;  the  day  he  ran  off  with  her  he 
was  as  surely  dead  —  in  a  social  sense  —  as  he  is  now  — 
in  every  sense." 

Here  the  mist  settled  down  upon  my  brain  once  more, 
and  I  heard  nothing  but  a  confused  murmur  of  voices,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  back  on  the  road  again,  hemmed 
in  by  those  gibbering  phantoms  that  spoke  so  much,  and 
yet  said  but  one  word :  "  Murder." 

"  Quick  —  a  candle  here  —  a  candle  —  bring  a  light  —  " 
There  came  a  glare  before  my  smarting  eyes,  and  I 
struggled  up  to  my  feet. 

"  Why  —  I  have  seen  this  fellow's  face  somewhere  — 
ah !  —  yes,  at  an  inn  —  a  hang-dog  rogue  —  I  threatened 
to  pull  his  nose,  I  remember,  and  —  by  Heaven !  —  hand- 


How  I  Came  to  London       509 

cuffs!  He  has  been  roughly  handled,  too!  Gentlemen, 
I  '11  lay  my  life  the  murderer  is  found  —  though  how  he 
should  come  here  of  all  places  —  extraordinary.  Sir 
Richard  —  you  and  I,  as  magistrates  —  duty  —  "  But 
the  mist  was  very  thick,  and  the  voices  grew  confused 
again;  only  I  knew  that  hands  were  upon  me,  that  I  was 
led  into  another  room,  where  were  lights  that  glittered 
upon  the  silver,  the  decanters  and  glasses  of  a  supper  table. 

"  Yes,"  I  was  saying,  slowly  and  heavily ;  "  yes,  I  am 
Peter  Smith  —  a  blacksmith  —  who  escaped  from  his  gaol- 
ers on  the  Tonbridge  Road  —  but  I  am  innocent  —  before 
God  —  I  am  innocent.  And  now  —  do  with  me  as  you 
will  —  for  I  am  —  very  weary  —  " 

Sir  Richard's  arm  was  about  me,  and  his  voice  sounded 
in  my  ears,  but  as  though  a  great  way  off : 

"  Sirs,"  said  he,  "  this  is  my  friend  —  Sir  Peter  Vibart.'* 
There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then  —  a  chair  fell  with  a 
crash,  and  there  rose  a  confusion  of  excited  voices  which 
grew  suddenly  silent,  for  the  door  had  opened,  and  on  the 
threshold  stood  a  woman,  tall  and  proud  and  richly  dressed, 
from  the  little  dusty  boot  that  peeped  beneath  her  habit 
to  the  wide-sweeping  hat-brim  that  shaded  the  high  beauty 
of  her  face.  And  I  would  have  gone  to  her  but  that  my 
strength  failed  me. 

"  Charmian !  " 

She  started,  and,  turning,  uttered  a  cry,  and  ran  to  me. 

"  Charmian,"  said  I ;  "  oh,  Charmian !  "  And  so,  with  her 
tender  arms  about  me,  and  her  kisses  on  my  lips,  the  mist 
settled  down  upon  me,  thicker  and  darker  than  ever. 


CHAPTER    XLVII 

IN    WHICH    THIS    HISTOEY   IS    ENDED 

A  BEiGHT  room,  luxuriously  appointed;  a  great  wide  bed 
with  carved  posts  and  embroidered  canopy ;  between  the 
curtained  windows,  a  tall  oak  press  with  grotesque  heads 
carved  thereon,  heads  that  leered  and  gaped  and  scowled  at 
me.  But  the  bed  and  the  room  and  the  oak  press  were  all 
familiar,  and  the  grotesque  heads  had  leered  and  gaped  and 
frowned  at  me  before,  and  haunted  my  boyish  dreams  many 
and  many  a  night. 

And  now  I  lay  between  sleeping  and  waking,  staring 
dreamily  at  all  these  things,  till  roused  by  a  voice  near  by, 
and  starting  up,  broad  awake,  beheld  Sir  Richard. 

"  Deuce  take  you,  Peter !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  say  —  the 
devil  fly  away  with  you,  my  boy !  —  curse  me !  —  a  nice 
pickle  you  've  made  of  yourself,  with  your  infernal  Revo- 
lutionary notions  —  your  digging  and  blacksmithing,  your 
walking-tours  —  " 

"Where  is  she,  Sir  Richard.''"  I  broke  in;  "pray, 
where  is  she?  " 

"  She.'*  "  he  returned,  scratching  his  chin  with  the  corner 
of  a  letter  he  held ;  "she.?" 

"  She  whom  I  saw  last  night  —  " 

"  You  were  asleep  last  night,  and  the  night  before." 

"  Asleep  ?  —  then  how  long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

"  Three  days,  Peter." 

"  And  where  is  she  —  surely  I  have  not  dreamed  it  all  — 
where  is  Charmian  ?  " 

"  She  went  away  —  this  morning." 

"  Gone !  —  where  to  ?  " 


In  which  this  History  is  Ended      511 

"  Gad,  Peter !  —  how  should  I  know?  "  But,  seeing  the 
distress  in  my  face,  he  smiled,  and  tendered  me  the  letter. 
"  She  left  this  '  For  Peter,  when  he  awoke  ' —  and  I  've 
been  waiting  for  Peter  to  wake  all  the  morning." 

Hastily  I  broke  the  seal,  and,  unfolding  the  paper  with 
tremulous  hands  read : 

"  Dearest,  noblest,  and  most  disbelieving  of 
Peters,  —  Oh,  did  you  think  you  could  hide  your  hateful 
suspicion  from  me  —  from  me  who  know  you  so  well  ?  I 
felt  it  in  your  kiss,  in  the  touch  of  your  strong  hand,  I  saw 
it  in  your  eyes.  Even  when  I  told  you  the  truth,  and 
begged  you  to  believe  me,  even  then,  deep  down  in  your 
heart  you  thought  it  was  my  hand  that  had  killed  Sir 
Maurice,  and  God  only  knows  the  despair  that  filled  me  as 
I  turned  and  left  you. 

"  And  so,  Peter  —  perhaps  to  punish  you  a  little,  per- 
haps because  I  cannot  bear  the  noisy  world  just  yet, 
perhaps  because  I  fear  you  a  little  —  I  have  run  away. 
But  I  remember  also  how,  believing  me  guilty,  you  loved 
me  still,  and  gave  yourself  up,  to  shield  me,  and,  dying  of 
hunger  and  fatigue  —  came  to  find  me.  And  so,  Peter,  I 
have  not  run  so  very  far,  nor  hidden  myself  so  very  close, 
and  if  you  understand  me  as  you  should  your  search  need 
not  be  so  very  long.  And  dear,  dear  Peter,  there  is  just 
one  other  thing,  which  I  hoped  that  you  would  guess, 
which  any  other  would  have  guessed,  but  which,  being  a 
philosopher,  you  never  did  guess.  Oh,  Peter  —  I  was 
once,  very  long  ago  it  seems,  Sophia  Charmian  Sefton, 
but  I  am  now,  and  always  was.  Your  Humble  Person, 

"  Charmian." 

The  letter  fell  from  my  fingers,  and  I  remained  staring 
before  me  so  long  that  Sir  Richard  came  and  laid  his  hand 
on  my  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  boy !  "  said  he,  very  tenderly ;  "  she  has  told  me 
all  the  story,  and  I  think,  Peter,  I  think  it  is  given  to  very 
few  men  to  win  the  love  of  such  a  woman  as  this." 

"  God  knows  it !  "  said  I. 


512  The  Broad  Highway 

"  And  to  have  married  one  so  very  noble  and  high  in 
all  things  —  you  should  be  very  proud,  Peter." 

"  I  am,"  said  I ;  "  oh,  I  am,  sir." 

"  Even,  Peter  —  even  though  she  be  a  —  virago,  this 
Lady  Sophia  —  or  a  termagant  —  " 

"  I  was  a  great  fool  in  those  days,"  said  I,  hanging  mj 
head,  "  and  very  young !  " 

"  It  was  only  six  months  ago,  Peter." 

"  But  I  am  years  older  today,  sir." 

"  And  the  husband  of  the  most  glorious  woman  —  the 
most  —  oh,  curse  me,  Peter,  if  you  deserve  such  a  goddess !" 

"  And  —  she  worked  for  me !  "  said  I ;  "  cooked  and 
served  and  mended  my  clothes  —  where  are  they  ?  "  I  cried, 
and  sprang  out  of  bed. 

"  What  the  deuce  —  "  began  Sir  Richard. 

"  My  clothes,"  said  I,  looking  vainly  about;  "  my  clothes 

—  pray,  Sir  Richard,  where  are  they  ?  " 
"  Burnt,  Peter." 

"Burnt?" 

"  Every  blood-stained  rag !  "  he  nodded ;  "  her  orders." 

"  But  —  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

Sir  Richard  laughed,  and,  crossing  to  the  press,  opened 
the  door. 

"  Here  are  all  the  things  you  left  behind  you  when  you 
set  out  to  —  dig,  and  —  egad !  —  make  your  fortune.  I 
could  n't  let  'em  go  with  all  the  rest  —  so  I  —  er  —  had 
'em  brought  here,  to  —  er  —  to  keep  them  for  you  —  ready 
for  the  time  when  you  should  grow  tired  of  digging,  and 
come  back  to  me,  and  —  er  —  oh,  dammit !  —  you  under- 
stand —  and  Grainger  's  waiting  to  see  you  in  the  library 

—  been  there  hours  —  so  dress  yourself.  In  Heaven's 
name,  dress  yourself ! "  he  cried,  and  hurried  from  the 
room. 

It  was  with  a  certain  satisfaction  that  I  once  more  donned 
buckskin  and  spurred  boots,  and  noticed  moreover  how 
tight  my  coat  was  become  across  the  shoulders ;  yet  I 
dressed  hastily,  for  my  mind  was  already  on  the  road, 
galloping  to  Charmian. 


In  which  this  History  is  Ended     513 

In  the  library  I  found  Sir  Richard,  and  Mr.  Grainger, 
who  greeted  me  with  his  precise  little  bow. 

"  I  have  to  congratulate  you,  Sir  Peter,"  he  began, 
"  not  only  on  your  distinguished  marriage,  and  accession 
to  fortune,  but  upon  the  fact  that  the  —  ah  —  unpleasant- 
ness connecting  a  certain  Peter  Smith  with  your  unfortu- 
nate cousin's  late  decease  has  been  entirely  removed  by 
means  of  the  murderer's  written  confession,  placed  in  my 
hands  some  days  ago  by  the  Lady  Sophia." 

"  A  written  confession  —  and  she  brought  it  to  you?  " 

**  Galloped  all  the  way  from  Tonbridge,  by  Gad ! " 
nodded  Sir  Richard. 

"  It  seems,"  pursued  Mr.  Grainger,  "  that  the  —  ah  — 
man,  John  Strickland,  by  name,  lodged  with  a  certain 
preacher,  to  whom,  in  Lady  Vibart's  presence,  he  con- 
fessed his  crime,  and  willingly  wrote  out  a  deposition  to  that 
effect.  It  also  appears  that  the  man,  sick  though  he  was, 
wandered  from  the  Preacher's  cottage,  and  was  eventually 
found  upon  the  road,  and  now  lies  in  Maidstone  gaol,  in 
a  dying  condition." 

Chancing,  presently,  to  look  from  the  window,  I  beheld 
a  groom  who  led  a  horse  up  and  down  before  the  door ;  and 
the  groom  was  Adam,  and  the  horse  — 

I  opened  the  window,  and,  leaning  out,  called  a  name. 
At  the  sound  of  my  voice  the  man  smiled  and  touched  his 
hat,  and  the  mare  ceased  her  pawing  and  chafing,  and 
turned  upon  me  a  pair  of  great,  soft  eyes,  and  snuffed  the 
air,  and  whinnied.  So  I  leapt  out  of  the  window,  and  down 
the  steps,  and  thus  it  was  that  I  met  "  Wings." 

"  She  be  in  the  pink  o'  condition,  sir,"  said  Adam  proudly ; 
"  Sir  Richard  bought  'er  —  " 

"  For  a  song ! "  added  the  baronet,  who,  with  Mr. 
Grainger,  had  followed  to  bid  me  good-by.  "  I  really  got 
her  remarkably  cheap,"  he  explained,  thrusting  his  fists 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  frowning  down  my  thanks.  But, 
when  I  had  swung  myself  into  the  saddle,  he  came  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  my  knee. 

"  You    are   going   to  —  find   her,   Peter  ? " 


514  The  Broad  Highway 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  know  —  where  to  look  ?  " 

"I  think  so  — " 

"  Because,  if  you  don't  —  I  might  —  " 

"  I  shall  go  to  a  certain  cottage,"  said  I  tentatively. 

"  Then  you  'd  better  go,  boy  —  the  mare  's  all  excite- 
ment —  good-by,  Peter  —  and  cutting  up  my  gravel  most 
damnably  —  good-by !  "  So  saying,  he  reached  up  and 
gripped  my  hand  very  hard,  and  stared  at  me  also  very 
hard,  though  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  "  I  always  felt 
very  fatherly  towards  you,  Peter  —  and  —  you  won't  for- 
get the  lonely  old  man  —  come  and  see  me  now  and  then  — 
both  of  you,  for  it  does  get  damnably  lonely  here  sometimes, 
and  oh,  curse  it !  Good-by !  dear  lad."  So  he  turned,  and 
walked  up  the  steps  into  his  great,  lonely  house. 

"  O  Wings  !  with  thy  slender  grace,  and  tireless  strength, 
if  ever  thou  didst  gallop  before,  do  thy  best  to-day ! 
Spurn,  spurn  the  dust  'neath  thy  fleet  hoofs,  stretch  thy 
graceful  Arab  neck,  bear  me  gallantly  to-day,  O  Wings, 
for  never  shalt  thou  and  I  see  its  like  again," 

Swift  we  flew,  with  the  wind  before,  and  the  dust  behind, 
past  wayside  inns  where  besmocked  figures  paused  in  their 
grave  discussions  to  turn  and  watch  us  by;  past  smiling 
field  and  darkling  copse ;  past  lonely  cottage  and  village 
green ;  through  Sevenoaks  and  Tonbridge,  with  never  a 
stop;  up  Pembry  hill,  and  down,  galloping  so  lightly,  so 
easily,  over  that  hard,  familiar  road,  which  I  had  lately 
tramped  with  so  much  toil  and  pain ;  and  so,  as  evening 
fell,  to  Sissinghurst. 

A  dreamy,  sleepy  place  is  Sissinghurst  at  all  times,  for 
its  few  cottages,  like  its  inn,  are  very  old,  and  great  age 
begets  dreams.  But,  when  the  sun  is  low,  and  the  shadows 
creep  out,  when  the  old  inn  blinks  drowsy  eyes  at  the  cot- 
tages, and  they  blink  back  drowsily  at  the  inn,  like  the  old 
friends  they  are ;  when  distant  cows  low  at  gates  and 
fences;    when  sheep-bells  tinkle  faintly;    when  the  weary 


In  which  this  History  is  Ended      515 

toiler,  seated  sideways  on  his  weary  horse,  fares  home- 
wards, nodding  sleepily  with  every  plodding  hoof-fall,  but 
rousing  to  give  one  a  drowsy  "  good  night,"  then  who  can 
resist  the  somnolent  charm  of  the  place,  save  only  the 
"  Bull  "  himself,  snorting  down  in  lofty  contempt  —  as 
rolling  of  eye,  as  curly  of  horn,  as  stiff  as  to  tail  as  any 
indignant  bull  ever  was,  or  shall  be. 

But  as  I  rode,  watching  the  evening  deepen  about  me, 
soft  and  clear  rjj|se  the  merry  chime  of  hammer  and  anvil, 
and,  turning  aside  to  the  smithy,  I  paused  there,  and, 
stooping  my  head,  looked  in  at  the  door. 

"  George !  "  said  I.  He  started  erect,  and,  dropping 
hammer  and  tongs,  came  out,  running,  then  stopped  sud- 
denly, as  one  abashed, 

"  Oh,  friend!  "  said  I,  "  don't  you  know  me.''  " 

"  Why  —  Peter  —  "  he  stammered,  and  broke  off. 

"  Have  you  no  greeting  for  me,  George?  " 

"  Ay,  ay  —  I  heerd  you  was  free,  Peter,  and  I  was  glad 

—  glad,  because  you  was  the  man  as  I  loved,  an'  I  waited 

—  ay,  I  've  been  waitin'  for  'ee  to  come  back.  But  now  — 
you  be  so  changed  —  so  fine  an'  grand  —  an'  I  be  all 
black  wi'  soot  from  the  fire  —  oh,  man !  ye  bean't  my  Peter 
no  more  —  " 

"  Never  say  that,  George  —  never  say  that,"  I  cried, 
and,  leaping  from  the  saddle,  I  would  have  caught  his  hand 
in  mine,  but  he  drew  back. 

"  You  be  so  fine  an'  grand,  Peter,  an'  I  be  all  sooty 
from  the  fire!  "  he  repeated.  "  I  'd  like  to  just  wash  my 
'ands  first." 

"  Oh,  Black  George !  "  said  I,  "  dear  George." 

"  Be  you  rich  now,  Peter?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  A  gentleman  wi'  'orses  an'  'ouses  an'  sen'^ants  ?  " 

"Well  — what  of  it?" 

"  I  'd  —  like  to  —  wash  my  'ands  first,  if  so  be  you 
don't  mind,  Peter." 

*'  George,"  said  I,  "  don't  be  a  fool !  "  Now,  as  we  stood 
thus,  fronting  each  other  in  the  doorway,  I  heard  a  light 


5  1 6  The  Broad  Highway 

■tep  upon  the  road  behind  me,  and,  turning,  beheld 
Prudence. 

"  Oh,  Prue,  George  is  afraid  of  my  clothes,  and  won't 
shake  hands  with  me !  "  For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other  of  us  —  then,  all  at  once,  laugh- 
ing a  little  and  blushing  a  little,  she  leaned  forward  and 
kissed  me. 

"  Why,  George ! "  said  she,  stiU  blushing,  "  how  fulish 
you  be.  Mr.  Peter  were  as  much  a  gentleman  in  his 
leather  apron  as  ever  he  is  in  his  fine  coat  —  how  fulish 
you  be,  George ! "  So  proud  George  gave  me  his  hand, 
all  grimy  as  it  was,  rejoicing  over  me  because  of  my  good 
fortune  and  mourning  over  me  because  my  smithing  days 
were  over. 

"  Ye  see,  Peter,  when  men  'as  worked  together  —  and 
sorrowed  together  —  an'  fou't  together  —  an'  knocked  each 
other  down  —  like  you  an'  me  —  it  bean't  so  easy  to  say 
*  good-by  '  —  so,  if  you  must  leave  us  —  why  —  don't  let 's 
say  it." 

"  No,  George,  there  shall  be  no  *  good-bys  '  for  either 
one  of  us,  and  I  shall  come  back  —  soon.  Until  then,  take 
my  mare  —  have  her  made  comfortable  for  me,  and  now 
—  good  night  —  good  night !  " 

And  so,  clasping  their  loving  hands,  I  turned  away, 
somewhat  hurriedly,  and  left  them. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  night  was  luminous  with 
stars,  and,  as  I  strode  along,  my  eyes  were  often  lifted  to 
the  "  wonder  of  the  heavens,"  and  I  wondered  which  par- 
ticular star  was  Charmian's  and  which  mine. 

Heaching  the  Hollow,  I  paused  to  glance  about  me,  as 
I  ever  did,  before  descending  that  leafy  path;  and  the 
shadows  were  very  black  and  a  chill  wind  stirred  among 
the  leaves,  so  that  I  shivered,  and  wondered,  for  the  first 
time,  if  I  had  come  right  —  if  the  cottage  had  been  in 
Charmian's  mind  when  she  wrote. 

Then  I  descended  the  path,  hurrying  past  a  certain 
dark  spot.  And,  coming  at  last  within  sight  of  the  cot- 
tage, I  paused  again,  and  shivered  again,  for  the  windows 


In  which  thig  History  is  Ended     517 

were  dark  and  the  door  shut.  But  the  latch  yielded  readily 
beneath  my  hand,  so  I  went  in,  and  closed  and  barred  the 
door  behind  me. 

For  upon  the  hearth  a  fire  burned  with  a  dim,  red  glow 
that  filled  the  place  with  shadows,  and  the  shadows  were 
very  deep. 

"  Charmian !  "  said  I,  **  oh,  Charmian,  are  you  there  — 
have  I  guessed  right?  "  I  heard  a  rustle  close  beside  me, 
and,  in  the  gloom,  came  a  hand  to  meet  and  clasp  my  own ; 
wherefore  I  stooped  and  kissed  those  slender  fingers,  draw- 
ing her  into  the  fireglow ;  and  her  eyes  were  hidden  by 
their  lashes,  and  the  glow  of  the  fire  seemed  reflected  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  The  candles  were  so  —  bright,  Peter,"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  so  —  when  I  heard  you  coming  —  '* 

"  You  heard  me.''  " 

"  I  was  sitting  on  the  bench  outside,  Peter." 

"  And,  when  you  heard  me  —  you  put  the  candles  out.''  " 

"  They  seemed  so  —  very  bright,  Peter." 

"And  shut  the  door?" 

"I  only  —  just  —  closed  it,  Peter."  She  was  still 
wrapped  in  her  cloak,  as  she  had  been  when  I  first  saw  her, 
wherefore  I  put  back  the  hood  from  her  face.  And  be- 
hold! as  I  did  so,  her  hair  fell  down,  rippling  over  my 
arm,  and  covering  us  both  in  its  splendor,  as  it  had  done 
once  before. 

"  Indeed  —  you  have  glorious  hair !  "  said  I.  **  It  seems 
wonderful  to  think  that  you  are  my  wife.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  it  —  even  yet !  " 

"  Why,  I  had  meant  you  should  marry  me  from  the  first, 
Peter." 

"Had  you?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  should  ever  have  come  back  to  this 
dear  solitude  otherwise?  " 

Now,  when  I  would  have  kissed  her,  she  turned  her  head 
aside. 

"  Peter." 


5  1 8  The  Broad  Highway 

"Yes,  Charmian?" 

"  The  Lady  Sophia  Sefton  never  did  gallop  her  horse 
up  the  steps  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral." 

"  Did  n't  she,  Charmian.?  " 

"  And  she  could  n't  help  her  name  being  bandied  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  or  — '  hiccoughed  out  over  slopping 
wineglasses,'  could  she.f*  " 

*'  No,"  said  I,  frowning ;  "  what  a  young  fool  I  was !  " 

"  And,  Peter  —  " 

"Well,  Charmian.?" 

"  She  never  was  —  and  never  will  be  —  buxom,  or  strap- 
ping —  will  she  ?  '  buxom  '  is  such  a  —  hateful  word,  Peter ! 
And  you  —  love  her.?  —  wait,  Peter  —  as  much  as  ever 
you  loved  Charmian  Brown.?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I;  "yes  —  " 

*' And  —  nearly  as  much  as — your  dream  woman.?" 

"  More  —  much  more,  because  you  are  the  embodiment 
of  all  my  dreams  —  you  always  will  be  Charmian.  Be- 
cause I  honor  you  for  your  intellect ;  and  worship  you  for 
your  gentleness,  and  spotless  purity ;  and  love  you  with 
all  my  strength  for  your  warm,  sweet  womanhood;  and 
because  you  are  so  strong,  and  beautiful,  and  proud  —  " 

"And  because,  Peter,  because  I  am  —  just  —  your  lov- 
ing —  Humble  Person." 

And  thus  it  was  I  went  forth  a  fool,  and  toiled  and  suf- 
fered and  loved,  and,  in  the  end,  got  me  some  little  wisdom. 

And  thus  did  I,  all  unworthy  as  I  am,  win  the  heart  of 
a  noble  woman  whose  love  I  pray  will  endure,  even  as  mine 
will,  when  we  shall  have  journeyed  to  the  end  of  this 
Broad  Highway,  which  is  Life,  and  into  the  mystery  of 
the  Beyond. 


THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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